Imprisoned Without Parole
by Slug's bay
Summary: This story takes place between seasons 3 and 4 while Tony is locked in a maximum security prison. COMPLETE
1. Chapter One: Arrival

_Disclaimer: As usual I don't own any of the 24 characters. This story takes place roughly seven weeks after In Federal Custody ends, although this is a separate story._

Their footsteps echoed all the way up the metal staircases with a hollow ring, amplified by the empty space in the middle of the catwalks. The stairs resonated with their passage, ignored by the six guards who traveled this path dozens of times daily, but picked up by their new arrival who gazed straight ahead; face a blank mask, eyes narrowed slightly. Hundreds of cursing voices echoed round the building, drowning out the staircase's echoes as they moved forward. None of the guards paid them the slightest attention; they continued up the final flight of stairs at the same measured pace. Occasionally the guard at the back prodded the prisoner forward when his feet stumbled, unwilling to allow him to pause. Rather than help the prisoner regain his balance this had the opposite effect, forcing him to grab the railing awkwardly with hands cuffed behind him.

'Move it,' ordered the guard at the back as they reached the third floor catwalk. They set off along the row, watched by all the prisoners in the cells they passed. The prisoner ignored the few insults thrown his way as he followed the leading guard, eyes fixed firmly on the end of the catwalk. His feet were able to move with greater ease as they moved over level ground.

The leading guard paused in front of a cell identical to all the others they had passed, and pushed his access card through the slot. The door opened slightly, and he pushed it wider. Tony walked in without being ordered to do so, moving to the back of the cell and facing the wall, silent and motionless as they removed his handcuffs. He remained in the same position until they exited his cell, pulling the door locked with a loud clang that reverberated through his brain, forcing a slight sob from his throat.

Once he heard their footsteps moving away he turned slowly, surveying his new surroundings. The cell was around the same size as the one he had been held in for the past six weeks awaiting his trial. The furnishing was identical too. A cast iron bed with a grey blanket was bolted to the floor on the left hand side, and a chair and small table were bolted directly opposite, beside a toilet and washbasin. Grey plastered brick surrounded three sides of the cell, the front consisting of bars from floor to ceiling, much like the previous cell, except that the bars were grey here, rather than white. Light grey tiles covered the floor, damaged along the edge. The ceiling was so dirty it was hard to know whether it had been white or light grey to start with – covered with patches of grime and peeling directly above the bed.

Tony felt drained, emptied of everything that had held meaning in his life. He had sat through his trial expressionless, fixing his gaze directly before him at a spot halfway between the witness stand and the judge's bench. If any of the witnesses hoped to see a reaction they were disappointed, getting only the blank mask he had perfected in the punishment cell. None of them were favored with a single glance. All were ignored with the same passivity; those who came to support him treated the same as those who spoke against him.

He had nearly snapped on the final day, when his sentence was handed out. Despite his outward immobility he seethed inside, pacing his cell ceaselessly whenever he was returned there, one, two, three steps and turn, one two three and turn again, for several hours each day. He had spent further hours leaning against the walls in the corner forcing himself to remember happier times, and hours lying face down on the bed, praying for deliverance. Before they came to collect him for yet another day of his trial he would stare at the bars, narrowing his eyes and steadying his breathing, focusing on a tiny gap between two of them, pulling the blank expression onto his face. 'Focus, Almeida.' Well, he had learned how to do that perfectly now. He wouldn't have moved a muscle at an unexpected gun shot, he focused so deeply.

On that final day they had come for him earlier than usual, placing him in handcuffs, shackling his feet and securing both to a chain he wore round his waist. He had shuffled in with the small half steps he was able to take restrained that way, startled to notice three people sitting in the normally empty audience seating. For the briefest second their eyes met his, showing him their shock at the sight of him. Michelle looked pale, as though she were suffering from a cold. Tears filled his mother's eyes, her gasp of dismay clearly heard in the silent courtroom. The tears were blinked back instantly by his father, who managed to give him an encouraging nod before he was turned away, being shackled to the table leg.

_They are here. Their faces look so drawn compared to the last time I saw them at the bail hearing. They have grieved for me. I am destroying them from the inside, robbing them of sleep, poisoning their waking moments with fear and hope for my future. The sight of me brings them to tears. Dammit, who allowed them to come today? They are not required as witnesses, and no one has been permitted to watch the case. It was the only thing I've been thankful for during the trial, that they were refused entry. Why oh why couldn't they have been spared this?_

His lawyer summarized the arguments in favor of leniency, reminding the judge of Colonel Anderson's testimony about his proven courage under fire; Jack's testimony about his outstanding work at CTU. The prosecutor reminded the judge of Hammond's testimony, recounting briefly how Tony had lied to everyone about covering up a mistake, how he removed a material witness from CTU, the only leverage they had against Saunders, how he gave suicide capsules to the dying at the Chandler Plaza Hotel without authorization, preventing anyone of them from the possibility of recovery, and how he had risked the lives of everyone in the nation, everyone in the whole world for his wife.

'Prisoner, rise,' ordered the judge. Tony had pushed his feet hard against the ground and steadied himself with a hand that could reach the table's edge, standing to a sound of clanking chains. He gazed at the same spot he had focused on all during the trial, to the obvious irritation of the judge. 'Prisoner, face the bench!'

The guard beside him had moved, showing every indication of turning him forcibly, so he had complied, sparing his parents the sight of him being manhandled. 'Antonio Almeida, I find you guilty of treason. Had your actions been committed by a member of the public, an untrained civilian, I would have attempted to understand. Love is blind; it causes people to commit acts they would never otherwise contemplate. I cannot condone such acts by a trained Federal agent, one who swore to protect the interests of the citizens of this country, especially one with such a long military record as yours. You broke your oath, your betrayed all our trust, you risked us all. I find myself disinclined to show clemency to such a man. I hereby sentence you to imprisonment for the term of your natural life, without the possibility of parole.' He paused for emphasis, allowing his words to sink in. 'This sentence will be served in a maximum security facility outside LA.'

Everyone rose as the judge left the podium, and a guard unshackled him from the table. He had not even blinked at the sentence, having expected it for days from the way the trial had proceeded. 'Tony'. He couldn't resist turning his head to see his parents, both of whom were attempting to move towards him. Their way was blocked by a guard, who prevented them access to the floor. 'Tony, I love you.' 'Tony, we'll come see you. Hang in there.' 'God protect you, pet.' 'We'll see you real soon.'

'Tony,' a soft voice called, hoarse with an obvious cold. 'I won't give up on you. I love you…'

He had spoken voluntarily for the first time in weeks. 'I love you too,' he managed to tell them, before being hauled out of the courtroom.

Outside his mask had slipped on again, remaining until the present. He blinked in the unaccustomed sunlight, not having been permitted access to the outdoors before his trial. Several guards surrounded the van that awaited him. Two climbed into the back before him, one ordered him inside, pushing him roughly as he was unable to negotiate the required step up in his chains. Another two climbed in after him, securing his feet to iron rings in the floor, and his hands to iron bolts in the side.

_This van better not have an accident now. They would never be able to unlock all those chains in a fire._

Two armed guards climbed in last of all, propping their rifles between their knees. He was given the usual warning about any movement being taken as an attempt to escape and the guards firing without warning. As usual he fixed his gaze between two guards and gazed at the spot on the side while the door was slammed shut and the van began to move. It paused to clear the court's parking lot and entered the heavy LA traffic. Around him the world moved on by car, hooting, blaring music, cutting in front of them forcing them to brake hard. Tony had no free hand able to grip the seat, whenever they braked sharply he slipped along the bench till his chains pulled him up.

He had sensed them leaving LA as the surrounding traffic faded and they gathered speed. About fifteen minutes later they slowed and turned a few times, before crawling forward. The van had stopped, and its door was opened. Armed guards waited outside with Alsatians held on leashes. A guard unfastened him from the van's bolts and ordered him to his feet. He shuffled forward, behind the first two guards who now awaited him beside the door. One of them gripped him by his shirt and pulled him out, steadying him.

Without moving his head his eyes took in the new surroundings. They were parked in a large courtyard surrounded by a high wall topped with barbed wire. Towers were located at every corner and in the centre of the wall. A building stood directly in front of them, in front of which stood six armed guards. A fence cut the courtyard in half beginning at the building and ending at the high wall. Obviously no prisoners were permitted access to this point.

_Take a good look, Almeida. You'll never get to stand at the entrance again!_

He was given a push from behind, and ordered to move. Silently he followed two guards inside, through two steel doors that were locked and unlocked behind him. He found himself in a room resembling a cloak room, where he had his chains and cuffs removed, and was ordered to strip. The old guards left him, and a new set from this prison stood in front of him, watching for any reaction to their presence. He gave none as he removed every vestige of clothing, standing before them naked.

'And what have we here? The man in the iron mask,' commented one of them.

'No, he's here for treason. For life!' replied another, glancing at the thick file on the bench.

'Treason! An enemy of this country! Hell, they should hang these bastards. Why waste tax-payers money on him? Does he even look American to you?'

_Shut up, you semi-literate idiot, or I will break your neck before your friends could even raise their weapons. I AM AMERICAN. _

One guard approached him warily. 'Open your mouth,' he ordered. Tony opened his mouth as a second guard grabbed him from behind by the hair and pulled his head backwards as far as it would go. The first guard donned gloves and poked through his mouth, pushing his fingers deep into his throat. Involuntarily he gagged, earning him a rough shake from behind. The guard removed his hand, wiping it on Tony's leg. 'Bend forward.'

_God, is there no end to this? I've just come from a prison – I've been there seven weeks. What could I possibly have on me?_

Slowly he bent forward, fighting to keep his face expressionless as he was examined. He placed one foot on the arm of his shirt, moving it very slightly. 'Alright, get up, get dressed.' A pile of prison clothing was placed on the bench beside him. He grabbed the underwear pulling it on, feeling slightly more human. He moved his left foot carefully along the floor away from his shirt, pulling a small square of paper along the floor under it. He settled on the bench to pull his socks on, shifting the picture to his other foot, further from the guards' line of vision, reaching down with his hands to pull his socks on. In a trice he held the picture covered in his hand, slipping it inside the bottom of his sock. He had managed to transport it! He breathed a sigh of relief.

A guard collected his discarded clothing, throwing them into a box. 'You won't be needing those again,' he remarked, eyeing Tony.

'Bastard's still playing deaf and dumb.'

'It's okay, the warden wanted to see him. He'll get a reaction, alright! Hands behind your back,' he ordered.

Tony placed his hands behind his back, feeling cuffs put on them. He was given a push to start moving. Expressionless, he followed the leading two guards to the end of the cloakroom, down a corridor and up a flight of stairs. This floor obviously belonged to the prison authorities. The parquet on the floor was polished and gleaming, and comfortable chairs formed a waiting area in front of an office labeled 'Warden.'

He was ordered to halt and face the wall while his guards watched him warily, knocking on the door of the office.

'Sir, Convict Almeida is here. You wanted to see him.'

He heard a murmur from within the office and a guard stepped out. 'Bring him in.' Tony was grabbed by his cuffs and turned to face the door by the guard who had expressed a desire to hang him. 'Move.'

He followed the two guards inside and was ordered to halt about three feet from the warden's desk. His two guards took up positions on either side of the door, within easy reach of him. The rest remained directly outside.

The warden regarded Tony in silence for a minute, obviously waiting for some reaction. Like all the others in the courtroom he was disappointed. Tony's face was completely blank, his eyes fixed above the warden on the window, barely blinking. The warden pursed his lips.

'Convict Almeida, you have been sentenced to life imprisonment for your heinous betrayal of this country. Do you realize what that means? You will stay here till you die; you will NEVER leave this prison again! You will never go home, never visit any friends, never go for any trips. You will never be permitted physical contact with any relative again, speaking to them only through glass IF you behave. Failure to adhere to the slightest rule will result in the loss of a visit.

'I am a loyal American, and I can't for the life of me contemplate why they tolerate people like you in our society. Do not expect any privileges here, you will get none.'

_Have I asked for any?_

'I can see from your record that you are a violent man. You have been sentenced to a period in the punishment cell. Let me tell you we have our own such facilities here too, and they're nothing like as comfortable as the rest rooms they term 'punishment cells' in LA Federal. Cause any kind of trouble and you will be placed into one without warning. Have I made myself clear?'

Tony had listened to the entire speech without moving his gaze from the window. 'Yes, sir,' he answered, hating the need to speak, but not daring to remain silent.

'You will lower your eyes when you are addressed, Convict.'

He fixed his gaze on the parquet, hoping the lecture would soon end. 'We don't have terribly many illustrious prisoners such as yourself here. Until you joined us we catered mainly for murderers, rapists and robbers. We did have the occasional domestic terrorist too. I believe you are acquainted with a few of them.

_Which ones? How many? _

'Here is a copy of our rules. Read it and memorize it. Take him to his cell.'

An access card was handed to the guard who had pulled his hair backwards, and he was grabbed by his arms and spun around, pushed through the door and ordered to follow them. The guards who had waited outside fell in behind him. He was marched down the stairs, over to the end of the corridor, through two steels doors and into an inner courtyard. It was empty except for a rusty basketball ring with a torn net on one side. The floor was a dusty concrete, uneven under his feet. He couldn't see any benches.

Tony breathed deeply as he was marched across this courtyard, attempting to fill his lungs with fresh air.

_Breathe Almeida, breathe. Who knows when you'll be allowed outdoors again? God, what a dismal place this exercise yard is!_

Inside was no less dismal. He was moved through the customary double doors of steel and entered a large floor, surrounded at the edges by cells, all full. Catwalks ran round the edges as high as he could see, surrounded by wire mesh to prevent anyone from ending such an idyllic existence. Cursing reached his ears from every direction, ceaseless as he was led along the floor over to an iron staircase.

He shut his eyes. He had arrived in his cell, in the prison where he would spend the remainder of his life. The trial, his friends and enemies no longer mattered, it was all over. Everything he had ever known was finished.

Tony rubbed the side of his head in a vain attempt to ease a growing migraine. He moved over to the corner and settled against the wall, burying his head in his hands. He ran through the events at his trial again, recalled his parents' faces. Slowly he felt something rise from the bottom of his stomach, a tension that threatened to squeeze the breath from his lungs and crush his heart.

_Dammit. I thought there was nothing left anymore. Where did this come from? 'Focus, Almeida, focus!' You will not cry, no, no, stop! Ok, so maybe you will cry, but not now. Not while everyone is staring at you waiting for you to break. Save it till tonight. _

He raised his head, fixing his gaze on a spot between the bars and gazed at it until the lights were dimmed and the prison settled for the night.


	2. Chapter Two: Tony's Cell

Tony moved over to his new bed in the dim cell, aware of the prison settling down for the night. The voices quietened and presently two guards marched along the floor. 'Alright, it's lights out. Everyone to bed! I catch anyone talking; they've got the strip cell for the rest of the week. Shut up!' The words echoed around, reverberating through his head. Everyone fell silent. Tony's head pounded. He pulled back the blanket and crawled underneath, grateful for the darkness. He felt violently sick.

'I'll give you a dollar it's right now.' 'I'll give you two dollars he'll make it till midnight.' 'What about a pack of smokes he'll last till dawn.' 'He lasts till dawn; you've won your pack!'

Tony attempted to shut out the voices, aware they were discussing him, waiting to see him start to bawl. He rolled onto his stomach, pressing his face into the sheet and allowed the tears out. He would cope with tomorrow once he got rid of the pain he carried within him, pain he was surprised to know he still felt. Eyes tightly shut, he pictured the last several months, from the party at his parents house with all his little nephews and nieces to his betrayal of CTU, to his arrest and bail hearing, his return to Federal for six weeks of confinement seeing only his lawyer, even that rarely, to the beginning of his trial, ending with today. He pictured his parents watching him hauled away, heard their voices again. 'I love you Tony. We'll see you real soon. Hang in there.' He saw Michelle's face; she was so obviously sick and had still come to support him. She wouldn't give up on him. It was seeing them that broke him, hearing their concern, seeing their love. No one had uttered a kind word to him since his arrest, and then they had appeared so unexpectedly. He would have to toughen himself up more to deal with their visits –he could not return weeping.

He wept so silently nobody heard him, face pressed deep into the blanket, controlling his breathing to prevent any noise.

_Its ok Tony, let it out. It will feel better soon._

Two guards patrolled the catwalks, staring through the bars at the prisoners. Tony hurriedly placed his hands outside the blankets and was relieved to see them walking past. The last thing he needed was to be forced to stand in the middle of the room and hear a lecture, showing his swollen eyes to everyone.

Just before dawn he found an inner peace he never felt before as he bade farewell to his own life. He would not stay here for years; he would end it a lot sooner than that. He just needed to see his parents and Michelle once, to try to explain his decision to them, to say goodbye. They would do their best to talk him out of it, but they would understand in the end, he was sure. Was there anything else he needed to tell them? He searched his brain, sitting up rapidly before lying back down. It would never do to get caught sitting by a guard during sleep time. Yes, he had the box of money hidden, money he had won at Acapulco on his last trip, money he had laid aside for an emergency. Michelle could use it; she would need to be told exactly which rock he had hidden it under.

At 6:00 a siren wailed through the prison, waking the inhabitants to a new day. Everyone got out of bed immediately and dressed. Tony followed their example, hearing the three prisoners who had betted on him the night before discussing him in annoyance. None of them had won their bets and they laid new ones, vowing that everyone brought in cracked at some point during their first day. He made his bed and went to sit in the corner, head against the wall, face blank, eyes fixed on a spot directly ahead.

Breakfast was wheeled down the catwalk, dumped through his slot. He ignored it, too exhausted and upset to feel hungry. 'Hey you, Convict. Get up. Hands behind your back.'

Reluctantly he rose, standing in the middle of the cell with his hands clasped behind him. 'You will eat every meal as soon as it arrives, or you will be placed on report. Is that clear?' The guard gave him a hard stare.

'Yes sir,' he replied, taking care to keep his eyes lowered. They left, warning him to behave. Tony moved to his tray, finding blackened toast, covered in thick margarine, a little marmalade, a bowl of porridge and a plastic mug of tea. Feeling thirsty he drank the tea before disposing of the remainder of the breakfast in the toilet. He flushed it and watched the pieces spin around and disappear. He laid the tray back in the slot and returned to his corner, numb. Once again his eyes settled on the same two bars and he gazed at them unblinking.

After the trays were collected another trolley moved down the catwalks. Buckets and cloths were handed out. Tony's cell was also unlocked and a bucket and rag handed in. 'Wash the floor. Clean the toilet. It's the block supervisor's inspection every Friday. Failure to do a good job will result in loss of your yard time.'

Tony rolled up his sleeves and dipped the rag into the bucket, wincing as scalding hot water reached his fingers. He threw it out in a hurry, waiting a few seconds before pulling the wet rag across his floor. Once most of the floor was ready he cleaned around the toilet as well, then emptied the water into the toilet and laid the rag across the side of the bucket. As his floor was wet he sat on the bed, wearing his impenetrable mask.

Presently the bucket and rag were collected individually from all the prisoners, laid neatly into each other and the trolley moved away. Tony heard the creaking all the way to the end of the catwalk, where a small lift waited for trolleys. He tested his floor carefully. It appeared dry enough – he returned to his corner.

An hour later several guards entered the block, stopping in the middle of the hall, clearly visible from every cell. 'Prisoners, block supervisor Davies is here to inspect your cells. As your cell is approached you will face the wall with your hands on your head and remain immobile until your cell is locked after the inspection. Any movement on your part will be considered an infraction of discipline and will result in a loss of outdoor privileges.' Despite himself, Tony watched their measured stride around the lowest catwalk. So they were inspected every Friday. What exactly did that entail? Would they search the cell or just make a cursory examination of the floor? He pulled Michelle's picture from the blanket and placed it carefully into the crack along the edge of the vinyl. They approached his own cell an hour later. As he heard them stopping at the door he got up and faced the wall, placing his hands on his head, feeling humiliated.

_Wouldn't it have been enough to just face the wall? This isn't an elementary school! It's totally unnecessary_!

The door was unlocked and two guards stepped inside with the supervisor. He heard him moving around, running his hands over the bed and peering into the toilet. 'Convict, turn round slowly keeping your hands on your head.'

Tony frowned in confusion. He had watched dozens of cells examined and no one had been ordered to face the supervisor. Had he left a patch of dirt somewhere? He took a deep breath and forced the slightest hint of emotion off his face before he turned slowly. His eyes were fixed on the floor at the boots of the guards, noticing their gleam.

'Convict Almeida, eyes forward,' ordered the supervisor.

_Ah, he will now warn me about attacking any of the guards. He must know all about the supervisor down at Federal._

Tony raised his eyes, meeting the supervisor's. All the years of marine training together with his two months confinement at Federal paid off. No emotion registered in his eyes. Inside his heartbeat increased. Surely it couldn't be Davis from boot camp?

He read recognition in the eyes of the supervisor, followed by a small smile at the corners of his mouth. 'Private Almeida, or shall I say Lieutenant Almeida? The one private too smart to be left with the group, no, he had to be promoted as an officer.'

_That's got to have rankled. You lorded it over us when you made corporal, placing me on report countless times. You must have been absolutely PISSED OFF when I made lieutenant._

'Almeida, I'm going to make it my personal goal to teach you the meaning of the word 'discipline'. I've had a little experience dealing with your type these last six years, and I've managed to teach every one of them.' He smiled at Tony. 'We'll be seeing each other, Convict Almeida!'

_Maldito sea. Why out of all the blocks in the jail did I end up on this one? Davis won't give me a break till I'm broken. He's 'managed to teach' take that as managed to break everyone else with a little life inside them. Life just gets better and better!_

The guards listened to the lecture fascinated, committing Tony's face to memory. He lowered his gaze to the ground as Davis turned to go, watching the boots leave. He took a few deep breaths to calm himself, surprised at the powerful surge of emotion he felt again. He had worked so hard at Federal to kill them once and for all and had really believed he had succeeded, but it appeared a little spark of life still remained inside him. With Davis threatening him without provocation he was sure to get annoyed regularly, preventing him from completing his self assigned task of turning totally impassive. He needed complete silence and lack of stimulation to achieve his goals.

He returned to his corner, forcing himself to gaze at the same couple of bars and stop biting his lips. Why did Davis hate him so much? Had he ever caused him offence inadvertently? Or deliberately? He couldn't think of a single occasion. A sigh escaped him. It was imperative that he be allowed to see his family at the first possible opportunity –he mustn't blow that chance. Until then he would put up with whatever Davis chose to hassle him about.

Deeply depressed, he contemplated pulling out Michelle's picture and watch her smiling at him. The need to have someone smile was overwhelming. He dismissed the idea as it formed. Someone in another cell would see his picture if he removed it now and would report him, hoping to get some favor from Davis. No, the photo would be examined only at nights.

Tony closed his eyes and thought of his parents when he was very young. He remembered crying after missing a few strikes with his bat at baseball, and his father picking him up and swearing they would practice that weekend, so he would be good by the following game. He had looked forward to the practice, reminding his father everyday to make certain he hadn't forgotten. The weekend proved rainy, drizzling from morning to evening. He had stood at the living room window staring outside, disappointed. 'Tony, there you are! Go get your coat quick. We'll get a little practice done today, whilst your mother visits Grandma.' He had grinned in pure joy and rushed for his coat and shoes, playing in the park with his father for over two hours until he had the strike exactly right. And he had known all along that his father really wasn't keen on baseball. He found himself smiling inside, a little calmer.

_They will understand_

Another siren sounded, and the prisoners moved to stand in front of their doors, hands behind their backs. Tony followed suit, hoping for a chance at fresh air. A minute later all the doors opened, and the prisoners stepped outside standing in a row, hands behind their backs, silent. Tony stood at the end, examining the back of everyone along his row. Fortunately he recognized none of them. Now if only the few terrorists they had would be in other blocks he would survive the month or so until his first permitted visit. 'Row Three' cried a guard, and the prisoners before him began to move. He followed them along the catwalk and down the flights of stairs. They stood in a queue before the steel doors, stopping beside another queue. Tony found himself standing next to a bald haired thug covered in tattoos. The thug gazed him over slowly, obviously unimpressed.

The first steel door opened allowing them to move forward to the area between the two of them. They were held there for a moment, packed together in a small area. Everyone remained silent as the second door was opened and they were allowed to enter the courtyard. Once outside they broke up into groups, spreading through the courtyard. Tony leaned against the wall, unused to walking around outside without cuffs on his feet; unused to being outside more than a few seconds at a time. The strong sunlight hurt his eyes. He allowed them to roam the courtyard, noting the blue uniforms they were all dressed in. The guards wore green –he saw them positioned in the shade beside a building, talking together and keeping an eye on the inmates.

One of the guards produced a ball and a group moved over to the rusty basketball ring, splitting into two teams. How long had they played together like this? If he stayed he would be one of them, joining the same game day in, day out, year in, year out. He shuddered, pressing closer against the wall. No, he couldn't lead such a meaningless existence.

He decided he should go for a walk, get his legs used to moving. He followed the wall around, pausing to examine the groups of prisoners. So far he had seen none he had placed here. He skirted the basketball game, noting some of the players were reasonably good. What could they all be doing here – they obviously played before in some teams, probably down at the park a couple of times a week. Unbidden an image rose in his mind of himself playing with his brothers whenever one of them was home on leave, using the ring in his parents' garden. He dismissed the memory, hastening his steps away from the game.

A group of prisoners smoked in a corner, among them the man with the tattoo. He gave them a wide berth and settled against the opposite wall, rubbing his calves. He seemed to be coping better with walking than he had hoped. Another short rest and he would continue on his way, examining the rest of the inmates.

He noticed a group of Spanish American prisoners not far from him, discussing a SUV theft and a high speed police chase in Spanish. Despite himself he felt interested in the outcome, enjoying the narrator's vivid descriptions of the chase. Shocked, he found himself hoping the thief would get away successfully.

_What is the matter with you, Almeida? These people are robbers! Sure they sound funny, but it wouldn't be that amusing if it was YOUR car they were discussing._

He decided it would be advisable to move a little further from them. Already he noticed they had stopped speaking and were eyeing him suspiciously. He turned to go, waylaid by the narrator. 'Not so fast, amigo. You've been listening to us. Who are you?'

'Tony Almeida,' he answered, watching for a reaction.

'Never heard of you!' remarked the car thief, to his intense relief. So he hadn't made it into the major news headlines. 'You look new here. When did you arrive?'

'Yesterday,' he replied, hoping to get away without further conversation. He really wanted to be left by himself to examine the groups of prisoners and, well, if he was really honest with himself, to brood.

'How long are you in for?' persisted the car thief, now surrounded by his entire audience.

Tony sighed. The last thing he desired was to get friendly with a group of car thieves. 'Life' he said so quietly they could barely hear him. The length of the sentence sounded unreal to him as he spoke. Damn, he really needed time to think, alone.

There was a shocked murmur through the audience. 'Amigo, what the hell did you do to deserve that? How many people did you kill?'

'Na, for that you don't get life. What did you steal?' inquired another man with a tattoo of a hawk in full flight across his arm.

They were obviously not going to allow him to leave now. Tony ran a hand along his face, rubbing it vigorously. 'I didn't kill any…' he began, then paused. That was not entirely true, if he thought about it. He had killed plenty of people in the army, and quite a few working at CTU.

'Ah, so you have killed, but you are not here for that! Come on; tell us what you did. We could use a new story now.'

_I'll bet. This place does that to you – makes you grab strangers and demand to hear something of their life. Nothing to do except reminisce._

He shook his head, pushing past them wordlessly. He needed to get away from them, get away from everything, and be left alone with his thoughts. He needed to consider how to end it all, it was all very well telling his parents, but he had no idea how to carry it out. There was NO WAY he was going to tell his family he would end it all and have them wait months to be told he was dead.

He hurried along the wall, attempting to put as much distance between himself and the Latin American group as he could, moving too quickly to notice where he was going. He almost bumped into a prisoner talking with the worst group he had seen so far. He side stepped at the last moment, skirting them. A hand with a grip of steel landed on his arm, spinning him around. Tony found himself staring into the eyes of Roderick Summers, the worst domestic terrorist he had sent down.


	3. Chapter Three: The Fight

Eyes without any pity gazed into his own, narrowing as recognition dawned. The vice like grip on his arm intensified. Tony stood rooted to the spot. His nightmare of the previous two months had eventuated! He stood before a man who had killed hundreds in a shopping centre fire, who had been apprehended by him. Tony remembered arriving at the scene, attempting to force open locked emergency exits before noticing they were all locked from the outside, shooting through them to allow as many people to escape as could still move. The stench of charred bodies made him retch as he forced his way inside to help find those who could still be saved. He had made it his personal task to find the man responsible, to prevent him from planning another such crime. Long after Michelle was in bed he would slip outside to the living room, forcing information from his computer, piecing random bits together, tracking the monster. Three weeks after the fire Tony went with a SWAT team, against Chappelle's orders, naturally, to apprehend the man in a motel. He had carried out the interrogation himself, calling Richards for help when Summers proved uncooperative. 'I'll kill you, Almeida. You're a dead man,' Summers had told him in parting. He had ignored it, having heard it dozens of times before.

'Federal Agent Almeida.' Summers words were soft, hissed around. Several prisoners moved closer, sensing some conflict, longing to see a little violence. 'Federal Agent Almeida.' Summers repeated, giving him a shove. 'Worse than a bloody cop. He's the guy who spies on you, tracks you from one end of the country to the next, who plants shit on you, gets you send here. Who are you spying on now? Me?' He shook Tony violently.

Tony forced his hand off his arm, taking a step backwards.

'Leave him Summers, he's got all day and a night.' Tony looked startled to see the Spanish American gang had also arrived, standing around with folded arms, looking as though they were discussing something as innocent as a football game.

'Here for life,' cried Summers. 'Without parole, too! Don't tell me Federal Agent Almeida managed to piss someone off! What did you do, fail to apprehend someone like me?' He shook his head slowly. 'No, they'd fire you for that, they wouldn't send you down. Could we have a dirty agent working for the government?' He laughed aloud. 'Remember what I said I'd do to you, Federal Agent? I said I'd kill you!'

Tony shook his head. 'Forget it, Summers. We're both here now.'

_I'm in as deep shit as you are. Deeper, in fact. Your lawyer pleaded so successfully you had the jury in tears. Hell, you were nearly acquitted. You were found guilty of manslaughter only, not first degree murder. You ended up with ten years. I got life!_

'"Forget it!" You're nuts. I've dreamed about taking you apart, piece by piece. You and, your wife. I remember her too.' He pointed a finger in Tony's face. 'When I get outta here, I'll find her. I'll kill her, slowly, but before I do that I'll…'

Tony felt a terrible rage mixed with fear boil inside him. 'Son of a bitch! Don't you DARE mention my wife. Go anywhere near her, my friends will blow your brains out.'

Summers spat on the ground. 'Doesn't seem as though you got too many friends left, Federal Agent. I think I'll go visit your wife.' He smiled provocatively at Tony.

No one present noticed Tony's fist lash out, they just saw it connect with Summers' stomach, knocking him flat on the ground. One of Summers' group shoved Tony into the wall, bruising his face. He spun around, seeing Summers rising, preparing to defend himself against a crowd. He placed his back to the wall, kicking at Summers, sending him sprawling. The entire group fell onto him, dragging him to the ground. Tony fought back furiously, too angry to notice any pain from the blows raining down on him. His head was forced to the ground, slammed into the hard concrete repeatedly by Summers. 'I'll visit your wife, Federal Agent Almeida, and when I do I'll…' Tony swung out of Summers' friends' grip and kicked two of them, grabbing Summers again. Incensed, he punched the man in the face, watching blood squirt from his mouth. All nine men in the group fell onto him, pulling him from Summers, forcing him back to the ground, kicking and punching him repeatedly. 'Bloody spic,' one yelled, kicking him in the face. Suddenly the fight intensified. Several of his attackers were hauled from on top of him, allowing him to sit up. He wiped blood from his face and stared around, amazed to see the car thieves fighting Summers' friends. Summers yelled something about spics he couldn't quite make out over the roaring in his ears, which earned him a kick from a car thief. Unfortunately the car thief answered his insult, something about gringos, which Tony again couldn't hear. The group that he passed smoking yelled in rage and moved into the fight, attempting to get to him. Between all the feet Tony noticed the entire yard was empty with the exception of the basketball players, who continued their game. Everyone was here now, beating the life out of each other. Tony received a tremendous kick to his ribs, drawing a scream from him which went unheard in the noise. Summers and two friends held him down while his head was again slammed into the concrete. Someone kicked him in the same spot in the ribs, and the world went fuzzy.

Shots ringing in the air broke up the fight seconds later. All the prisoners threw themselves on the ground, hands on their heads, lying flat and motionless. Another shot was fired above them. Silence descended. Even the basketball players lay flat, the ball abandoned. Tony blinked, trying to clear his vision, unable to focus on anything through the blurry swirls of color floating around him. Was he the only one not lying flat on his stomach? He attempted to move, but found himself unable to roll around.

'Convict Almeida, on your feet,' ordered Davis' voice, harsh in the utter silence. Tony blinked again, managing to clear his vision. Davis tapped his night stick against the ground impatiently. 'On the double,' he said.

Tony pressed one wrist against the ground, attempting to comply. He was able to raise his head and shoulders before sinking back, too dizzy to move any further. Knives sliced through his side with every breath he took. There were several broken ribs, he recognized the pain.

Davis raised his night stick, bringing it down from a great height onto his thigh. Pain from the solid rubber stick exploded along it, forcing him to bite his lips hard to keep silent. The stick was raised again. Before he could attempt to rise it was brought back down on his thigh, hitting the exact same spot as before. He was unable to hold the scream inside.

Davis appeared satisfied. 'When I say "on your feet" I mean it, Almeida. I'll tell you one last time, on your feet.'

_Better get up. He'll beat me unconscious right here soon. I won't scream again –everyone's watching._

Once again he forced his wrist to the ground, placing his weight onto it. Calling for his last ounce of inner strength he forced his head and back up, rolling over onto his knees. Drawing another deep breath and immediately wishing he hadn't, he rose to his feet, swaying. A guard placed him in handcuffs.

'Move, Convict Almeida,' Davis ordered, and he stumbled behind two guards, seeing the other prisoners lying flat. Just before he reached the steel doors he head Davis speaking to them, removing all yard time for the next fortnight, reducing rations, canceling visits, and he was still in full swing as the second steel door opened to allow him inside.

_They're taking me back to my cell. Oh God, I don't think I can make it up all those stairs._

Fortunately they marched past the stairs and along the entire floor, out through the second set of steel doors, into another courtyard and along to the administration wing. Tony's heart rate increased. He had a horrible feeling he was being taken to the warden. They turned down a corridor before they could reach the staircase, and entered another corridor through the regulation double set of steel doors. Tony was ordered to face the wall, whilst one of his guards opened a door and spoke to someone inside. 'Move it, convict' he said, and Tony stumbled inside an examining room.

A middle aged doctor in a while coat rose hurriedly, telling the guard to remove the prisoner's cuffs. The guard didn't like the request but complied, warning Tony the slightest movement would get them replaced. Tony had no intention of making the slightest movement; he allowed the doctor to help him onto the examining table and closed his eyes, trying to dispel the dizziness.

The doctor fetched some warm water and cleaned the blood from his face, shining his torch into Tony's eyes. 'I'm going to have to undress you, to examine you,' he told Tony. 'Bear with me.' He removed Tony's top and examined the bruises forming near his ribs, running his hands over them. 'I'll need an X Ray of those ribs,' he said, helping Tony off the table and into the next room. Tony waited quietly on the bed back in the examining room while the pictures were developed.

'You've got three broken ribs, but no internal injuries. I guess you could say you're lucky,' the doctor told him. 'However you've also got a concussion, so I'm admitting you to the infirmary. I'll go find you a bed.'

'I'm supposed to take him to the warden,' protested the guard.

'I'll take it up with Warden Brownlow,' replied the doctor. 'This prisoner has been admitted to hospital and he's staying for the next 24 hours at least.'

The guard looked unimpressed, cuffing both Tony's feet to the bed, frowning at him.

'There's no need to shackle him to that bed, he's not going anywhere,' the doctor remarked, watching the guard.

_This guy is so nice he must be new here_.

'You can go,' the doctor told the guard, dismissing him. Tony grinned faintly, seeing the outraged expression the guard threw the doctor before he left. 'Now, that was quite a beating you took, Almeida. As you're the one heading to the warden I'll assume they're going to blame you for the incident. Get some rest today –it's necessary anyway for the concussion. I'll give you something to help you sleep.'

Tony spent the following two days in the infirmary. He was grateful for the second day, aware he was being kept there to rest only by the kindness of the doctor. The place was quiet; he seemed the only one held there overnight. The doctor appeared to examine him on the second day in the afternoon, staying to talk for a few minutes.

'Almeida, I'm going to have to clear you for release tomorrow,' he began, sounding regretful. 'I've listed your broken ribs, but there's little else I can do for you.' He sighed. 'I've requested an examination of your ribs in five days. I doubt they'll allow anyone near you before then.' He shook his head sympathetically.

'Five days,' repeated Tony, gazing at the ceiling. 'I'll be fine; I've been locked up for longer than that before.'

'I wish I could reduce that for you on medical grounds, but I can't. Funny, I left Africa as my efforts were almost totally in vain, and then I find myself unable to help my patients here as well.'

'Africa,' Tony said softly, enjoying the conversation, aware he would not get another chance to speak to any educated person for ages. 'I served in Somalia, years ago. No UN doctor could have made any difference.'

'I saw that after 20 years, for myself. Did you serve anywhere else?' The doctor sat in a chair beside the bed.

'Yeah, in Kuwait during the Gulf War, and later we were stationed in Saudi Arabia. We attempted to keep some of the more militant Yemenis out of the kingdom, but it was almost impossible patrolling such a vast desert.' He closed his eyes, remembering the sandstorms.

'You don't belong here, Almeida,' the doctor told him, quietly.

Tony sighed deeply. 'Yes I do. I'm worse than any of the others here. I let everyone down who was counting on me. We had a situation that could have gone disastrously, if others hadn't intervened.'

'How many times did you fail?'

'Just that once.' He turned away. 'They should have fried me. I guess they thought it worse to let me live.'

The doctor got up, peering at him. 'Now, Almeida, I know you're at the beginning of your sentence, and it's tough, but don't do anything you'll regret. Ok?' He waited until he had eye contact with Tony, who nodded.

_I won't do anything I'll regret. Living like this is unbearable. I can't do it._

'There's always hope. You know the saying "where there's life there's hope?"'.

_Not for me there isn't_. 'Yeah, I heard it.'

A guard appeared the next day to escort Tony to the warden's office. He placed his hands behind his back feeling the familiar cuffs round his wrists. Two guards led him out of the medical section and upstairs to the warden's office. He was ordered to face the wall while his guards settled in the easy chairs. He was kept waiting for half an hour, face against the wall, while the warden's door remained shut.

_I guess he's REALLY pissed off today. Oh well, there's nowhere else I'm expected to be at the moment. Or ever again_.

Eventually the warden opened the door and told the guards to bring him in. 'Convict Almeida,' he began, sitting at his desk while Tony stood in the centre of the room, eyes on the floor. 'You've been here a total of 14 hours when you managed to create the biggest disturbance this prison has seen for the past 25 years! Have you got anything to say for yourself before I deal with you?'

'Sir,' Tony began, already knowing his efforts were futile, 'it didn't exactly happen that way. I ran into someone I sent down and he threatened me, which I ignored, after which he threatened my wife and….'

'Convict Almeida, I am sick of reading your file about your saving your wife. The entire justice department is sick of hearing about your wife. I suggest you don't mention her again. You created a disturbance and you'll pay for it! You deserve a spell in the SHU, but unfortunately the law stipulates new prisoners are not permitted to be sent there for the first two months of their sentence. Luckily I have another spot to send new troublemakers. You've got five days in the hole.'

_That's ok, I already know that. I could use the time to try to plan my release. You don't scare me!_

'Your outdoor privileges have been cancelled for the next month, and you will not be permitted to receive any visitors for the following six months. If I have to speak to you again you will see nobody for a year. Do you understand me?'

_Six months! I can't wait that long. I'm NOT staying here for six months!_

'Six months is a long time, sir,' Tony protested mildly. 'My parents will be distressed. They haven't done anything wrong. My wife…'

'Then you should consider them before you try anything else. Take him to the hole.'

Tony bit his lip to keep back his retort and turned to face his guards, following them outside the office and down the stairs. They led him along a corridor back towards the cloakroom, opening a door he hadn't noticed before. Lights came on, revealing a concrete stairwell. A guard led the way, the second one brought up the rear. Sandwiched between them Tony felt his way down each step carefully, unable to help himself with his cuffed hands. The stairs twisted around, heading deep into the ground. There seemed no end to them.

_Warden Brownlow's private nuclear shelter. Many more steps; he'd survive a direct hit!_

The place was obviously designed to instill fear into the heart of the prisoner led that way. Even Tony experienced mild unease as the stairs continued to wind down and around. How much deeper were they going? He had his answer a few minutes later, arriving abruptly at an ice cold corridor built entirely of concrete. Lights were built high into the ceiling. The place smelled musty and damp. He shivered in the chill.

'Convict, stop.' Tony paused at a table and chairs, beside a cupboard. A guard moved over to him, pushing him against the wall and removing his cuffs. 'Face the wall. Strip!'

_Surely they're not going to remove my clothes in this cold?_

Slowly he removed his shirt and laid it on the nearby chair, hoping to hear the order to halt. 'Convict, move it,' snapped the guard. He removed his trousers next, pulling them off reluctantly, and laid them over his shirt. His eyes sought the guard's. 'Socks too, convict,' ordered the man mercilessly. Tony shook his head in disgust, sitting in the chair to remove both of them, laying them on to his pile of clothes. 'You may keep your underwear,' the guard informed him. 'Let's go, convict.'

Tony was led to the end of the corridor, where they stopped at a steel door. An access card open it and he noticed a few black metal doors set into the concrete. The guard opened the nearest one. 'Get inside and face the wall.' Tony took a step inside and paused, unable to move further for lack of room. The place was tiny. It was completely empty, containing a small hole in the center of the floor that was to serve as his toilet. Where was he to sleep? A third guard appeared, throwing a rolled up rubber mat inside.

_God it's freezing in here_.

He stood against the wall, hearing them leave the cell, hearing them slam the solid door closed. He found himself in total darkness, far darker than the darkest night he'd ever been out in. A sliver of light shone under the door. He found himself moving towards it, hoping it would be left. He had to orient himself somehow. Minutes later the light went off.

_Focus Almeida, focus. So you're in a tiny dark room underground, there's nothing scary about that. So you can't see anything –that's ok, there's nothing TO see. So you can't hear anything –well, you wanted peace and quiet to think. You've got it! If only it weren't so terribly cold._

He leaned against a wall, arms crossed attempting to keep himself warm. His feet began to hurt. Tony leaned down and felt them, not surprised to feel them both ice cold. He felt along the floor for the mat and unrolled it. He sat down, placing his hands on it and laying his feet on top of them, attempting to warm them a little. Within minutes his hands ached from the cold. He stood up again, rubbing them together. Now his whole body was cold, he felt himself shivering. His feet hurt all over again. Tony knelt down, cursing his sore ribs that caused pain while he exercised, attempting to pump the blood through faster. He had been here no more than half an hour and he already felt frozen through. How would he survive five days?


	4. Chapter Four: Dogface

Tony survived the longest five days of his life due only to the harsh training he had received as a Marine. He shivered through all of them non stop, pressing his lips tight together to prevent his teeth chattering. Every few minutes he changed his position, attempting to keep a little warmth in his extremities. Several times an hour he exercised as vigorously as his ribs allowed him, desperately hoping to feel less cold. Memories and daydreams were suppressed as they arrived. If he lost total concentration the cold would kill him. He forced himself to keep alert, the shivering helping. During the struggle he unknowingly practiced his impassive mask, refusing to allow himself to cry. Energy had to be saved for staying alive – he had none left for other pursuits.

On the second day of his incarceration underground the sliver of light appeared under his door. He watched it, not daring to hope for release. He had no idea how long he had been there, but it couldn't have been five days. Something was pushed through his door, a tray. Tony grabbed the plastic mug of tea and drank rapidly, reveling in the warmth. There was also a lukewarm bowl of porridge and a couple of slices of bread. He ate the porridge before it could grow cold and placed his tray back through the slot, laying the bread in a corner. Despite the porridge he still felt ravenous, yet he forced himself to keep something for later. When would he be fed again?

He prayed frequently for help, asking to be allowed to survive the punishment so he could explain his decision to end it all to his parents. He owed them that much. Tony begged forgiveness for his decision to die, begging God to understand he could not live incarcerated for the rest of his life.

By the time he was next given food he had lost any glimmer of hope that someone would intervene and end his punishment. Completely dead inside, he stared at the tray, wandering whether he dreamed its presence. Finally he allowed himself to move towards it, grabbing the mug with shaking hands.

_Easy, Almeida. You don't want to spill it. Drink it slowly, not so fast. You need it to warm you. You won't get another for ages_.

He laid the cup back reluctantly, and ate his porridge, wandering dully why it was always lukewarm. It would have been useful if only it were hot. Once again he laid the bread aside for later. After he placed his tray back in the slot, it was removed. He expected to hear footsteps heading away, but instead he heard the slot opening again. Two bottles of water were pushed inside. Tony grabbed them, having felt terribly thirsty for the previous two days, and laid them beside the bread.

_I'm so tired. I can't do this anymore_.

The last day dragged out. He fought a constant battle with exhaustion, forcing his weary body to exercise, to change position every couple of minutes. It no longer made a difference whether he warmed his hands or his feet; they failed to register the cold. After forcing himself to move he sank down on his knees and fell on the floor, unable to rise. He knew he had to move, he just couldn't find the strength to do so.

'_On your feet, Almeida. Did you hear me? On the double.' I can't do it. 'On your feet, private! What do you think this is, a retirement village? You've got KP for the rest of the month! Move it. Right now!' _

Tony stirred and pushed himself up, huddling in the corner. His fingers found the remaining bottle of water and he managed to control their trembling enough to unscrew the lid. Ice cold water poured down his throat. He coughed a little out, wiping the liquid off his chin.

When the door opened admitting filtered light from the corridor he was forced to cover his eyes. He remained leaning against the wall, unable to believe he was being removed. 'Convict, step out! Face the wall and place your hands behind your back.' He slowly removed his arm from his eyes, squinting against the unaccustomed light. 'Convict, I won't tell you again. Place your hands behind your back and step outside.'

_Am I dreaming? Are they really here? Can I go?_

Slowly he pushed himself from the wall, stumbling out, placing his hands behind his back. Outside the light hurt his eyes, he squeezed them shut, feeling cuffs placed on his wrists. 'Move, convict.' He allowed his eyes to open a crack and followed the guard in front of him along the corridor, where he was ordered to halt before the cupboard. His clothes were handed back. A guard helped him to dress as they left his cuffs on. His wrists were unlocked as his shirt was thrown on him, immediately being locked again. 'Move it, convict' he was ordered, and he resumed his walk along the corridor. Once they reached the stairs it became obvious that he could not manage to climb them by himself. His legs were cramped as hard as solid rock, unable to bend. After cursing him they dragged him upstairs, pushing him hard against the steel door that led to the courtyard.

Tony felt relieved he was not being taken back to the warden. Once he was pushed through both steel doors his eyes closed in the bright sunshine. He felt his arms being grabbed again and was dragged across the courtyard, through the double steel doors and into the block of cells. Conversation ceased at his arrival, everyone moving to their bars to watch him. He attempted to shake the guards' hands off his arms, but they seemed determined to humiliate him in front of the inmates, dragging him along the floor until they paused in front of a cell.

Tony blinked in confusion as the door was unlocked and he was pushed through. Where was he? Why was he being locked in there? This wasn't his cell.

He forced his mouth open, made himself speak. 'This isn't my cell. I was upstairs.'

'Not anymore you're not, convict. You've been moved. Face the wall.' Not knowing what to do, he faced the wall and had the cuffs removed, hearing the guards leave the cell.

_Oh God, the photo! It's still upstairs, hidden in the vinyl._

Completely drained, he stumbled over to his bed and sank down. The pounding in his head was taken up by the banging in the cell block, every prisoner hitting his bars, yelling. He heard the words 'Federal Agent' a few times, followed by strings of swear words. His eyes closed and he lost consciousness.

Tony managed to eat a little dinner that evening, chewing slowly to allow his stomach time to accept the food. He lay back on his bed, longing for lights out so he could crawl beneath the blanket. He slept all night, waking with difficulty the next morning to eat breakfast – returning to lie on his bed to rest again.

Exercise period passed without a single prisoner being allowed outside. Davis appeared at 10:00 and informed the entire block they still had a week and a day to go without outdoor privileges, thanks to Convict Almeida. Once he left the howls began, cursing Tony.

The next eight days passed the same way. Tony ate all his food, feeling his strength returning day by day. He resumed his exercises, remaining huddled in his corner the rest of the time, gazing at the bars. No one could get a reaction from him, no matter what insult they screamed across the block.

_I must find out who's got my old cell. I need that photo back._

He was greatly relieved when the eight days were up and the prisoners were lined up to go outside. Finally he would have a quiet couple of hours without the incessant swearing. He watched them leave from the corner. During those two hours of peace he allowed himself to daydream, imagining himself at home, or at the beach, or at some other pleasant place with his family.

By the third week he began to envy them, longing to feel the sun on his face again. Another week and he would be allowed outside too, and he could find the man who had his photo, and somehow get it back.

Judging by the hostility shown him, he prepared to defend himself as he was finally permitted to join the queue for his first walk outdoors in a month. His fears proved groundless. Extra guards were positioned in the courtyard, and nobody approached him, in fact every prisoner turned away from him as he passed, mumbling curses. Tony walked over to the opposite wall where he had stood on the only previous occasion he had been outside, feeling completely alone, his face blank.

'A Federal Agent! How could you do such a job, amigo?' remarked the car thief, pausing to regard him with scorn. Stony faced, Tony gazed past him. 'Ok, don't talk. We're not going to bother you again!' He turned to go.

Tony turned his head. 'Wait! Thanks for your help, in the fight.'

The thief grinned at him. 'That was fun, amigo, finally we all lived again. Anyway, we couldn't allow them to beat you up. We would lose all our respect, you see!'

Tony nodded, trying to understand. 'Can I ask you something, before you never speak to me again?'

The thief turned, intrigued. 'Si.'

'I need to find the man who got my old cell. I can't see anything of the top row from where I am now.'

The thief nodded, interested. 'Why, amigo? You want to kill him for taking your view?'

Tony shook his head. 'No, of course not! I left something there, and I need to ask for it.'

The thief stared at him in the greatest astonishment, beckoning the rest of his gang over. 'Listen, boys! The Fed was dumb enough to leave something in his old cell, and he thinks he'll just get it back if he asks nicely!'

The entire gang laughed merrily, shaking their heads. Tony waited patiently until they settled down. 'It has no value,' he said, softly.

'Amigo, _everything_ has value, here.'

'It's only a photo.'

They stared at him fascinated. 'You haven't been here a year yet. You're not allowed photos!'

'I got it in,' Tony told them. 'Just tell me who's got the cell, I'll ask for it today.'

Again they laughed at him. 'Amigo,' remarked the man with the tattoo of the hawk, 'he won't just hand it over to you. It has value, if you want it. You'll have to give him something, in exchange.'

'I haven't got anything' Tony said sadly, amazed by the sentence. For the first time in his life he truly owned nothing. 'Just point him out to me and I'll try to do something.'

They pointed to a man covered in tattoos, one of the group of smokers. Tony sighed, unsure how to approach such a person. 'That's Dogface. He wouldn't give his own mother a glass of water. Good luck, amigo.'

_Mom, look at me. My eyes still hurt in the sunlight. Everybody hates me as I represent the police to them. I'm on my way to talk to a criminal named Dogface, to ask for a photo I smuggled in here, which he is unlikely to give back to me. If he doesn't, I'm fully prepared to deal with him, and if I do that, I won't be allowed outside in this dusty courtyard for weeks again. Oh, and if the guards find the photo, well… I don't even want to think what will happen to me then._

Dogface smoked his cigarette, discussing motorbikes with a group of men covered, as far as Tony could make out, in tattoos. The conversation consisted of which engine had the greatest strength, which ones could outrun the police. He waited, wishing to talk privately with the man, rapidly tiring of their talk. From the corner of his eye he saw the Latin Americans throwing a ball to each other, watching him. In the far corner the basketball game continued as though it were but an interruption of the game just before the fight, last month.

Dogface swore at the group, who all cursed him, yelling that Harleys were far superior to any other bike on the planet. Stamping his cigarette out on the ground, he swore again and wandered off. Tony felt relieved. He had been afraid he wouldn't get a chance to catch the man alone. Keeping his distance, he followed him across the courtyard, close to the basketball game. Dogface lit another cigarette, cursing the players, who ignored him.

Tony took a final look around; making sure no one watched them, before stepping over to Dogface. The man glared threateningly at him. 'What do you want, fed? You going to beg for your cell back? Hell, an ape like you doesn't deserve a view. Piss off!'

'I will, in a minute,' Tony said, mildly. 'First you're gonna listen to me.'

'I don't listen to no one, fed! Get out of my sun, and piss off, before I break your neck!'

'I'll break yours, in a minute,' Tony replied, irritated. 'Trust me, I've killed more people in the army than you did, at home, and not all of them with weapons!'

Dogface gazed at him seriously for the first time. 'What do you want?' he asked, sullenly. 'I don't know nothing.'

_Looks obvious to me_.

'I left something in my old cell. You're gonna give it back to me tomorrow,' Tony said, in as threatening a voice as he muster. 'Otherwise, I'm gonna strangle you slowly, the way they taught in the army. It's been a couple of years since I last tried that.' He hoped the threat would frighten the hooligan.

Dogface gazed at him uneasily. 'You're talking shit, fed. The army don't strangle no one.'

'You sure about that?' Tony gave him a cold look, devoid of feeling.

Dogface spat on the ground. 'What did you leave? I didn't see nothing.'

Tony glanced around out of the corner of his eye, noting the guards talking in the corners, and the rest of the prisoners wandering around. No one seemed close enough to overhear him. 'I left a photo in the left hand corner, just beside the bed. The vinyl is cracked there, pull it up carefully. It's a small photo, just the same size as a passport picture. Bring it to me tomorrow.'

Dogface blew a ring of smoke into his face, smirking. 'A photo. You're not allowed photos till you been here a year. And you're so dumb, fed; it's obvious you ain't been here more than a few weeks.'

Tony folded his arms, noticing the guards glancing his way. 'Tomorrow' he said, firmly.

'Not so fast, fed. I'm taking it the picture ain't of the Virgin Mary.'

'What?' Tony exclaimed.

'It's of someone who means somethin' to you, and it'll cost you. You got smokes or money?'

He shook his head. 'I won't tell you again, Dogface. If you don't bring me the picture tomorrow, I'll kill you right here. I got nothing to lose.'

'You that keen on a pretty photo, you'll trade for it,' Dogface insisted, 'or I'll call the guards now and you'll never see it again. Now you ain't got shit, that's obvious, so – you'll have to do something for me instead.'

'No, I don't. I'll tell you one last time, that picture isn't here tomorrow, you're dead.'

Dogface blew another ring of smoke into his face. 'I wander who the picture is about' he said slowly, drawing on his cigarette. Tony noticed a guard heading purposefully towards them. 'Could it be a lady? A wife, maybe, or a girlfriend? I think Summers might recognize it. He wanted to visit your wife.'

Tony's fists clenched. He held them behind his back with difficulty. The guard appeared, demanding to know what was going on.

'Nothing, nothing, sir, we're just discussing the weather,' Dogface said. 'Been a lot of sun recently, and no rain.'

'I'm keeping my eye on you two,' the guard said. 'Cause any trouble at all, Almeida, you're back in the punishment cell.' He walked away.

_Why threaten me and not him? Which of us looks the troublesome type?_

'Ok fed, do we have a deal, or do I hand over your photo to Summers? He'd like it even more than those guards would. Hell, he might want to stick it on his wall.' He turned round, waving at Summers.

'Wait,' Tony heard himself say. 'What do you want me to do?'

Dogface turned back to him, drawing again on his cigarette. 'Well, ape, I'm down for shower block cleaning this week. Do I look like a cleaner to you?'

_No, you don't look like you done an honest day's work in your life. And I doubt whether you bothered to clean out your own house, either. _

'First of all, I'm NOT an ape. Call me that again, you'll find your head turned 180 degrees, that's backwards, you high school dropout. And no, I don't think you got enough brains to clean out a shower block!'

They glared at each other, moments away from throwing a few punches. The guard returned, pausing before them. 'Convict Almeida. I've had enough of your attitude. Go stand next to the wall by the door. If you can't quit causing trouble, you won't get to walk around!'

Tony took a deep breath, following the guard over to the door unwillingly, aware nothing had been resolved. The guard pointed to a spot on the wall a couple of feet away. 'Stand right over there. I see you move, you're not coming back out here for a long time.'

_Dammit. I just needed another minute!_

Half an hour later Dogface wandered past him. 'You thought about it, fed? Will you take over my cleaning roster?'

'Yeah,' Tony replied. 'When will you bring me my photo?'

'I'll bring it tomorrow, if you do the cleaning this evening. I'll tell Jones' he pointed to the guard who had placed Tony by the wall, 'that you're doing it this week. He won't care. Good luck, fed.' He laughed aloud as he walked back into the crowd. Tony gazed after him puzzled, narrowing his eyes slightly.


	5. Chapter Five: Shower Block

'Well, fed, I see Dogface walking away laughing, I see you standing near the door, where all the troublemakers get put, so I can't help wandering how it went. What did he say?' questioned the leader of the car thieves.

'I thought you weren't going to speak to me again,' Tony told him, slightly amused by the man's curiosity.

The thief shrugged. 'You had a hell of a job outside, amigo, but you couldn't have been all that clean, if you're in here now. Maybe you're not that bad!'

'Thanks.'

'Come on amigo, what did Dogface get you to do? That man is a bastard, he'll get you back in that hole before you know what's happening, and by the way you looked when they brought you back last time, you won't make it!'

Tony groaned aloud, aware of the ten guards less than a dozen feet from them. He lowered his voice and spoke in Spanish, hoping no one would overhear him. 'He'll bring me the picture tomorrow, but like that guy with the hawk said, not for free.'

'Guy with the hawk? You mean Sanchez?' The thief laughed aloud. 'So what did Dogface want?'

'Nothing I could give him. He said I should clean out the showers for him this week.'

'MY GOD. And you were stupid enough to agree? Oh why do I even ask? You're far, far too dumb to ever join my gang! You wouldn't last one day.' He stared at Tony in despair.

Tony frowned, remembering Dogface's laugh. 'What's going on in the shower block?' he inquired.

The thief beckoned the rest of his gang over. 'Guys, listen. Dogface got this idiota to take over clean-up of the shower block.' There was a silence. Tony noticed they stared at him pityingly.

'It's our fault, Rodriguez' Sanchez said. 'We should have warned him about these things. Now he's dead.'

'No, I'm not, so kindly tell me what the hell is going on in the shower block!' Tony demanded.

'Listen, fed, the block is run by a con who's got extra privileges. He's real friendly with the guards, so he gets trusted with the showers and he gets all kinds of stuff for the job. Thing is, he don't clean nothing, he just supervises. Every week someone else gets to go. And he's got two friends who hang around there too; they come in later, once you get started. There's no ladies round here, you know, so they grab whoever they can, all together. They got knives. Nobody gets away.'

Tony closed his eyes, shocked.

_No wander Dogface'll give me back my photo if I go instead of him. I got to get out of this. I'll get the picture back another way._

The siren wailed loudly, rising over the buildings. Everyone lined up, hands behind their backs, a guard collecting the balls. The same guard returned, pointing to Tony. 'Go join the queue now, Convict Almeida. You've got the shower block to clean out this week. See you behave better there than you did here.'

'Ah, I don't think I'll do it after all,' Tony began. 'It's not my turn.'

'Convict Almeida, I've already changed the schedule. I am NOT changing it back!'

Tony cursed in Spanish, joined by the entire Latin gang. 'Remember, they got knives. They'll come for you all together.' Sanchez warned him.

'Silence' bellowed the guard. 'I've already spoken to you lot about speaking in English. And you are aware of the rules of NO TALKING in the queue at all. Now move it!' The steel doors opened and they filed inside, silently.

'Almeida, they fight like cowards. You been in the army, maybe you can take them down,' Sanchez encouraged him. Tony bit his lips hard. He was going to have to. He nodded firmly.

He ate lunch without tasting any of it, recalling all the Krav Maga movements he had used. During the afternoon he exercised, loosening his muscles, preparing himself for an unavoidable fight, thankful his ribs had healed.

Two guards came for Tony later in the afternoon, ordering him to the back of his cell with his hands behind his back. He moved slowly, wishing he had a way out of this new nightmare.

_Bloody guards changing my cell around_.

Handcuffs were placed on his wrists and he was ordered to move. Tony chewed his lips, telling himself he would inevitably have been selected to clean the block sooner or later, only it could have been later. It should have been later. He thought of the photo he had brought so far. It was his, he would die holding it. There was no way he would leave it to Dogface or Summers, or anybody else!

'Amigo' yelled a voice above the din, 'good luck. You're not a bad guy, for a fed!'

Tony glanced upwards, seeking the face, longing for a final reassuring glance. 'Move it, convict,' ordered one of the guards in an irritated voice, giving him a shove. He raised his head, fixing his eyes directly at the steel doors and walked out. Once past the double steel doors he was led down a corridor, noticing the utter silence of the place. He knew his way well to the showers by now, having been there several times before.

This time he was led into the shower block and his handcuffs were removed. The convict in charge of the block handed him a mop, a bucket and a cloth, chatting a few minutes to the guards while Tony was forced to get started. Knowing he was ok while the guards remained he set about mopping the water spilled in the middle of the floor. 'Convict, the tiles need bleach, there's mold on them again,' the convict in charge of the shower block told him. He handed Tony a bottle of bleach.

Tony knew better than to demand gloves as the instructions on the bottle indicated he should wear, spreading bleach on the cloth and scrubbing the floor. He hoped the guards would stay the whole time and he could avoid any trouble, so he worked rapidly. Presently an overwhelming smell of bleach spread through the block.

'Call us when he's done,' a guard said, and they left the room with the convict, chatting about some baseball game. Tony kept the bottle of bleach beside him, the cap off. He poured a little water into the middle of the floor, noting the place was as slippery as an ice rink. He was as prepared as he could get.

The door opened again and the convict stepped inside, followed by two friends. Tony swallowed the lump in his throat, grasping the bottle of bleach firmly. The three stood in front of the door, preventing his escape, cutting the shower area in half. 'Come here, convict. You're new, we haven't got acquainted yet.'

Tony remained crouched on the floor, preparing to spring. 'Are you deaf, convict? Come here.' He gazed at the ground one final moment, hearing them move towards him. He rose suddenly.

'Leave me alone. Back away.' He stared them individually in the eye.

'He's got spirit, this one.' One convict pulled a knife, advancing towards him. Tony swung the bleach and poured the contents into his face, hearing the man's screams. The other two fell onto him, whipping out their own knives. He managed to catch one and throw it behind him, snapping the man's wrist as he did so. The third man slashed his arm with his knife, cutting deep into the skin. Tony choked back his scream, punching him in the face, spinning him round and slamming his head into the toilet, keeping his eye warily on the second man now rising, holding his injured wrist. He advanced towards Tony, grabbing the mop, swinging it towards his head. Tony dodged the blow, tripping him, punching him savagely in the stomach, watching him curling up on the ground. The man whose head he had banged lay silently on the ground, whilst the man into whose face he had poured the bleach remained under a shower, attempting to wash it out of his eyes.

He sank down, exhausted, unable to believe he had won so easily. His arm throbbed violently. Tony examined it, noting the depth of the cut, and moved to a tap to clean the pouring blood away enough to enable him to tie his shirt around it. Blood seeped through his makeshift bandage. He breathed heavily, removing the shirt and washing his arm again, not noticing the second man had risen, grabbed the half empty bottle, and threw bleach at his arm. The throbbing turned into burning as he turned, lunging for his attacker, slamming him into the wall and kicking him until he went down. He stumbled back to the tap, noting the stream of fresh blood all over the tiles, holding his arm underneath it.

The door opened, admitting the two guards. They stared at the scene speechlessly for a second before one grabbed his radio and called for back-up. Tony remained where he was, washing the bleach from his wound, as the guards went to help the man in the shower and the man groaning man on the floor. Seconds later ten guards in full riot gear arrived, followed by Davis, who glared at the scene and turned to the second man. 'What the hell happened here?'

'Sir, convict Almeida wouldn't clean out, so we tried to teach him a lesson. He poured bleach into Smiths' face and tripped Hardy, beating his head in the ground, and he broke my wrist.'

'That right, convict Almeida?' Davis inquired, unpleasantly.

'Except for the first part, where all three came at me with knives,' Tony muttered.

'Take them all over to the infirmary,' Davis ordered, noting the stream of blood from Tony's arm. 'And heaven help you, Almeida, if anything happens to any of these men.' Despite his deep cut he was handcuffed and marched out of the shower, together with the two able to walk. The third convict was carried on a stretcher. They marched through the block, watched by every prisoner.

'Well done, Almeida,' Sanchez yelled into the silence. With the two guards holding him by his arms he was unable to acknowledge the call. They were hurried across the courtyard and into the next building, taken straight to the infirmary. The doctor rose from the sofa where he had been watching TV in a great hurry, checking the injuries, treating the eye injury first with a little spray and bandaging it, then turning his attention rapidly to the unconscious man, telling Tony to keep pressure on his arm.

Tony watched while a light was flashed into the convict's eyes, hoping he hadn't killed the man. He breathed a sigh of relief when the doctor pronounced a concussion and asked his assistant to undress both men and lay them in bed. 'Now Almeida, let me see that arm,' he said, pursing his lips at the sight of the blood. 'I'll have to clean that for you, it'll hurt a bit.' He gave Tony a shot and began to clean the cut, shaking his head. 'That's going to require stitching right away. Can you flex your fingers for me?'

Tony clenched his hand into a fist, feeling waves of pain through the cut. 'Good, at least we escaped nerve damage,' the doctor said, beginning to stitch several layers of skin together. He lay back on the table, closing his eyes, grabbing the chance to relax. Seeing Davis remain in the room left him little hope for a few days rest in bed.

_Mom, it's good that you can't see me now. I beat up three men, I nearly killed one. The doctor is stitching a huge cut on my arm, and I'm about to hauled in front of the warden again. He's going to send me down to the hole for another five days, and I don't know how I can take that._

Tony felt sick at the thought of more time in the hole. He turned his face towards the wall, fighting tears, struggling to keep his face blank. 'Almeida, I'm going to give you something to sedate you while I fix up that arm, it's a long job,' began the doctor. 'You'll feel a little drowsy till tomorrow.'

'No, Doctor!' They both turned to face Davis. 'You are NOT admitting Convict Almeida to the infirmary. Fix his arm, give him a painkiller, then he is going to the warden. He is not in any danger.'

'Mr. Davis, the convict has lost a lot of blood. There is a strong possibility of infection setting in over the next couple of days due to the bleach poured into the cut. I cannot clear him for release till the danger has passed.'

'Take it up with the warden,' Davis replied, ice cold eyes fixed on Tony. 'I am removing him on my own authority.' He left the room, pulling out his phone. Tony, who had dared to hope for a few days rest groaned aloud.

'Almeida, there is nothing I can do for you,' the doctor told him sadly. 'I've prescribed a course of antibiotics for you, they will last five days. Take them three times a day. I've also prescribed some painkillers; you're to take them together with the antibiotics, so you won't forget. Good luck,' he said softly, as a guard pulled Tony from the table. His arms were forced behind him and the cuffs fastened round his wrists to the intense disapproval of the doctor, whom all the guards ignored. Six of them escorted him upstairs to the warden's office.

That evening the warden answered his knock immediately, obviously briefed by Davis on what had occurred. Tony was marched in and left in the centre of the room while two guards stood behind him and another two at the sides of the room.

'Convict Almeida, you seem to have an intense problem following rules,' the warden began. 'It's what sent you here in the first place, and I expected you would have learned something from the last time we spoke, but I can see you haven't. You cause trouble whenever you possibly have the opportunity to do so. Now a less patient man would give up on you and transfer you to a different prison, but fortunately I have reams of patience. I will teach you to obey all rules instantly and trust me, convict, by the time I've finished with you, you will totally lack the desire to disobey.

'Now last time I said you would have yard privileges removed for a month, that's a fair amount of time, wouldn't you say? And I warned you that you would have no visitors at all for a further six months if I had to speak to you again. So now you have no visitors for the next ten months. Don't give me that crap about your parents,' he said sharply, seeing Tony was about to speak. 'You did this to yourself.'

_Oh, Papa, mom, I'm so sorry. I really thought I could pull another four months out here, but I can't take ten!_

'Now last time I sentenced you to, let me see,' he opened Tony's folder, 'five days in the hole. Normally I send people there for two days, but the disturbance you caused merited more. Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine you would risk another spell there so soon. So this time, um…' he tapped his pen against the open folder while Tony shook with fear inside, 'let's try seven. Seven days is sufficiently long for you to control your temper, Almeida.'

_Oh God, I could barely survive five! Seven days will kill me! I CAN'T go back to that place again_.

'I see the doctor has prescribed some medication for you. You will be permitted to take your antibiotics, but I am withholding your painkillers. It might teach you to behave a little sooner. We must try everything available to us, convict! Now take him to the hole.'

Two guards grabbed his arms and spun him around, pushing him from the office. Tony's heart sank as he was shoved down the staircase and along the floor till they reached the locked steel door. He swallowed hard, calling up all his resolve to remain impassive to prevent his fear from showing. Once the steel doors swung open he followed the leading guard without the slightest hesitation down the stairs, round and round until he grew dizzy and grabbed the rail awkwardly with his cuffed hands. How many were there? He had a feeling he would be able to give an accurate answer to that someday.

Once again he was led to the cell behind the locked steel doors, being forced to strip. He took a long while over his socks, removing them last, dreading the pain his feet would soon feel. He was motioned into the same cell and the door was slammed loudly behind him, plunging him in darkness. His eyes focused on the sliver of light under the door, his feet automatically stamping to keep warm. A few tears slipped out as the sliver disappeared. Tony allowed them to run unchecked down his face, overwhelmed by the events of the last few months. He had been kept at Federal for two months awaiting his trial, and had been here just over one. That was three months without contact with his family.

_Focus, Almeida. By this time they will be over their initial shock at my arrest. They'll even be over my sentencing. They sure as hell WON'T be over being denied visits._

_Mom, Papa, I guess you're doing your best to get to visit me. You'll be writing to everyone you can think of, you'll call everyone. You'll be on your way to finding out just how little sympathy a traitor's family can expect. You're not giving up, I know that for sure. You guys won't EVER give up on me._

_What are you doing now, Michelle, honey? God, how quiet the house must seem to you these days. I remember waiting for you to come home a few times; it was sooo awfully quiet until I heard your car._

More tears spilled down his face. He shook his head. Hadn't he made a deal not to think of anything down here? He better remember his survival techniques again in a hurry if he was to live long enough to reclaim his photo.


	6. Chapter Six: Recovery

He felt life slipping away slowly, chased out of his body by the constant shivers that racked him. He had kept track of the first five days through the arrival of his antibiotics three times a day together with a plastic mug of cold water. The sliver of light appeared regularly, helping him to keep focused, to note the passage of time. He was given his usual mug of hot tea and bowl of porridge every second day which he learned to eat morsel by morsel, licking the bowl clean before feeling his way over to the door and the slot. His arm throbbed too much to permit any exercises, so he contended himself with stamping his feet or crouching on his knees to give them an occasional break. At times the pain threatened to drive him over the edge.

_Focus, Almeida. Ignore it. Push it away, push harder. It's already receding. Push it further. You're doing great. _

During the fourth day he developed a slight cough which worsened rapidly. His whole body shook as he leaned forward; it's shaking joining the constant shivering. He learned to lay his injured arm on the floor whenever a coughing fit took him to prevent it jerking. In desperation he attempted to steady his breathing, concentrating on each icy breath as it entered his lungs, hoping to ease his sore throat and prevent more coughing.

The sliver of light appeared under his door. He blinked, forcing his lungs to move at the same pace. They were bringing him food. Slowly he rose from where he had crouched on his knees and moved towards the slot, watching it open. Shaking hands lifted his mug, laying it back an instant before a coughing fit shook him.

_Steady, Almeida. You laid that tea back too slowly. You almost lost the lot._

He picked it up again, pouring the scalding liquid down his throat. Replacing the mug he took his bowl and ate it slowly, pausing to cough several times. What day could it be? They had brought him food three times now, every second day, so that made it day six. He had another one to survive. Yet another coughing fit shook him. He laid the bowl down, leaning forward to protect stomach muscles that were sore by now. Too late, he felt his stomach heave, filling his mouth with food. Pressing his eyes shut he forced himself to swallow it back down. Again his stomach heaved, emptying its meager contents.

Tony forced himself to wait a few minutes before attempting to eat the remainder of the now cold porridge in his bowl. He HAD to keep something down. The slot opened and his mug was removed. He took another small mouthful of porridge. Again his stomach heaved. It was no good; he needed to wait a few minutes before resuming his meal. The slot opened again, and an irritated face peered in.

'Prisoner, the bowl!'

'Just give me a few minutes,' Tony rasped, his voice sounding strange after not having spoken for six days.

'Prisoner, I am warning you. The bowl,' repeated the guard, tapping on the slot.

Tony turned his back to the light, noting his bowl remained half full. He wasn't going to waste that. Slowly he took another mouthful, warming it before swallowing it down. He heard the door opening.

'Prisoner, face the wall!' He gazed at them bewildered, aware guards never entered the cell or even spoke to a prisoner undergoing a spell in solitary. One guard grabbed him by his good arm, pulling him to his feet and shoving him into the wall. Moments later they exited the cell, slamming his door closed. The slot opened. 'Convict Almeida, there will be consequences to your disobedience.' The slot slammed shut. Tony moved towards the light, searching for his bowl. He couldn't see it anywhere on the floor. Kneeling down he pulled his hands over every inch of the floor, searching in desperation. The floor was empty, not only was his bowl nowhere to be found, the few crusts of bread he had saved were gone too. Desperation kept him searching far longer than the rational part of his brain told him he should.

He sank onto the icy floor, moaning aloud.

'_On your feet, private. On the double. Why the hell am I always having to speak to you? Get up!'_

He forced himself to move, Will's voice echoing through his head, as annoying in memory as it had been in real life. _"You, Almeida, wouldn't have a hope surviving capture. Not a hope! You've got to force yourself to focus on the situation, stop fighting useless battles, wait till you get out for that. Focus on survival. Step forward, Almeida! We're going to repeat this exercise! I'm going to lock you back in that shed, and if I hear a single sound from you, you'll stay there the rest of the day. Settle down and concentrate on staying alive IN SILENCE." _God, how he had hated his sergeant. Yet he knew Wills would have survived in this hole. Well, he would too!

Two days later he received only a mug of tea and some bread. He drank the tea as fast as he could, replacing his mug in the slot and snatching his bread. Why did they feed him now? It was the eighth day; he was supposed to have been released yesterday. He pressed the bread into his fist, not daring to lay it down while the sliver of light remained under the door.

His head spun, he coughed all the time, he began to struggle with each breath. Time passed without his release. Where were they? They HAD to let him out today! He stumbled to the door, banging on it with his fist, unable to yell. Silence greeted him when he gave up, silence surrounded by complete darkness. The silence of the grave, he thought.

_No, not here. Not like this_.

When they finally released him, on the ninth day, he had to be dragged along the corridor as well as the stairs, unable to walk. He heard his guards discussing his condition, struggling to comprehend their words. Steel doors were unlocked, he was dragged through. He felt hands raise him; lay him on a soft bed. His clothes were removed; something cold was pressed against his chest. Conversation floated all around him as he squeezed his eyes shut.

'Almeida, open your eyes.' He lay where he was, ignoring them all. 'Move your hand for me.' Slowly he moved his hand, still clenched in a fist. 'That's good. Open your hand for me.' Fingers pried his fist open, removing the half slice of bread squashed inside it.

_No, that's mine!_

Startling them all, he opened his eyes, grabbing the bread out of the doctor's hand.

'Almeida, you don't need that anymore!' The doctor attempted to remove it but he closed his fist around it tighter than before. 'Alright, you can keep it. Relax.' He gave Tony a needle, and despite himself he found himself falling asleep. They would take his bread now. He forced his fist under his back.

The following days passed in an incomprehensible whirl. Occasionally he forced himself awake, checking he still had the bread, before drifting off.

'How do you feel today, Almeida?' inquired the doctor, smiling down at him. Tony blinked, registering his surroundings for the first time since his arrival. He lay wrapped under a white blanket with an IV tube in one arm.

'Ok, I guess,' he whispered.

'You've still got that piece of stale bread. Take a good look at it, and then I'll get you some fresh bread if you'll let me throw this away.'

He gazed in silence at the rock hard bread he still held, feeling his cheeks burn. Wordless, he handed it to the doctor. 'You're a survivor, if ever I saw one,' the doctor remarked, handing him a slice of fresh bread. 'Try to eat a little. You can also have some soup now.' He raised the bed, propping Tony up.

'How long have I been here?' Tony asked, trying to speak clearly.

'A week. You had bronchitis and pneumonia in both lungs. You even scared the warden. Between you and me, I had a few things to say to him. I handed him a medical form stating that any further time in the hole would kill you – it was an official warning! Oh, and Almeida...' he turned, laying a plate of steaming soup down. 'Hurry up with your lunch. You've got a whole pile of letters waiting for you.'

'For me?' Tony whispered, narrowing his eyes slightly.

'Yes, I'll bring them to you after lunch.' His hand shook with excitement as he held the first letter he had received since his arrest. The first one was from his sister Rita, written the day after his arrest. He wandered who had kept it for so long. It seemed everyone else had written too, his other sisters Jane, Anna and Maria, and his brothers Marco, Bobby and Joey. His parents had written several letters each. All expressed deep love and concern for him, assuring him they would fight to get him released, urging him to take care of himself until that time. He rubbed his eyes with his sleeve, grateful for being granted a couple of hours privacy by the doctor. With trembling hands he reached for the final envelope, recognizing the handwriting.

_What does she think of me? She understands EXACTLY what I risked, the way the others don't_.

Michelle wrote that she was lonely in the large house, hating the silence that greeted her whenever she returned. Someone new had taken over his old position. He noticed she didn't mention the workplace or his replacement's name, aware they would be censored before he could read them anyway. She had returned to Division, glad to avoid seeing the people at CTU everyday. Her job was interesting, necessitating long hours in the office, which was fine at the moment as she was unable to face going out by herself anyway. Tears filled his eyes as he gazed at the letter, reading it again to himself, slower.

'Almeida, have something to drink,' the doctor told him as he gazed at the same letter an hour later. Tony reluctantly laid it aside, sitting up to sip a little orange juice. It tasted fresh; he drained the entire glass and laid it down with a sigh. He hadn't been given any juice since his arrest. His eyes returned to the letter. There was nothing he could do anymore, he just had to hope. His best friend was hurting, and he had caused her grief.

Someone approached his bed hesitantly. Tony looked up, surprised to see Sanchez watching him, wearing a bandage round an arm. 'Hey, amigo. It's good to see you again. The whole block is talking about you. I brought you something.' He handed Tony a small white square envelope. Tony's fingers shook as he opened it, pulling out Michelle's photo. It was in perfect condition, just as he had left it.

Her face smiled out at him, her hair spread around it, a loose curl hanging over her ear. His breath caught in his throat. He hadn't held the picture for a month now, and well, her smile was even brighter than he remembered. The smile that had been directed at him as he watched her passport photo being taken. He remembered pulling a funny face, then rolling his eyes to get her to laugh just as the picture had been taken.

'Oh Tony,' she'd cried, exasperated. 'This picture is supposed to be sent to Division with my file. I can't send that.'

'Sure you can,' he'd replied. 'You look fantastic.'

'Thanks honey, but they want an official photo. This one looks too much like I had it taken after a trip to the beach! I'll have to get another one taken. Would you wait outside!' She had given him a firm push, and he had left the booth, carrying the set of her smiling ones with him, placing that one in his wallet while he waited.

_Will I ever see you smile at me again, sweetheart? Can you understand what I felt, seeing that bastard with a knife to your face, hearing him ordered to take out one of your eyes? Do you think I could have watched that?_

_Honey, I knew I would never see CTU again as I took Saunder's daughter out. I guessed they would prosecute me, even send me to prison, I just didn't think it would be for so long. I'd do the same again, Michelle, even after the last few months, coz there's NO WAY I could live with myself if anything happened to you. Now I sit around all day, wasting time, dreaming of seeing you again. I love you so much_.

The doctor kept him in medical for another three days. Tony was grateful, enjoying the comfort and the quiet. The days were filled with rest, and the doctor usually came to talk to him a little in the afternoons. He took the photo of Michelle carefully from beside Tony, looking at it. 'Your wife?' He nodded. 'She's lovely.' He nodded again.

Once he was a little stronger and could spend a few hours awake, the doctor carried in his TV. 'I thought you might want to watch it a bit, Almeida,' he said, and Tony watched it all night, drinking in every word. He hadn't even seen a TV since his arrest, let alone been allowed to watch anything. With all the problems he had faced he hadn't even realized how much he had missed sitting on his couch, watching something. The first program showed a group of teenagers having a party on the beach. His breath caught in his throat. The water looked SO blue. He listened for the sound of the waves, filled with an overwhelming desire to walk on a real beach. The next program was one Michelle would have appreciated and he would have to have been coerced into watching with her, a romantic movie of a couple, terminating in a wedding. He watched it silently, rubbing hot eyes. A show followed these movies – a man with a guitar sang on a stage. Tony's fingers moved involuntarily. When would he ever get to hold his guitar again? Indeed, he hadn't heard any music since his arrest. The full meaning of his incarceration hit him. It meant a lot more than just sitting in a cell.

He was too exhausted to eat breakfast the following morning, waking up with the remote in his hand and the TV still on. The doctor chided him mildly, insisting he eat something and promising he would bring the TV back that night, provided he switched it off around midnight. Tony ate a little and slept till lunchtime. He felt happier than at any previous time since his arrest.

'You awake, Almeida?' inquired the doctor, pulling a chair up to his bed. Tony opened his eyes and nodded.

'Yes, Dr Lahti.' He gazed at the doctor, wandering what was coming.

'Almeida, you came a lot closer to death than you seem to realize. There's a limit to how much abuse your body can sustain,' Dr. Lahti began. 'Now it's time for you to settle down, accept your imprisonment and live with it. Ending up here all the time isn't going to reduce your sentence, believe me. Prison officials don't care whether you spend your time reading in your cell, or whether you spend it in isolation. You're not punishing anyone except yourself. Do you understand what I'm saying?'

Tony gazed back at him, reading concern in his expression. He sighed. 'Yeah,' he agreed reluctantly. 'You're saying I should settle down to live like a zombie!' He saw the doctor frown and shake his head. 'No wait,' he continued, holding up a finger. 'You're advising me to reduce my stress levels, take up a hobby, maybe go for a walk in the evenings!'

Dr. Lahti shook his head exasperated. 'You know exactly what I'm saying, Almeida! You've had a tough start, but it's over now. I stuck my neck out for you with that form yesterday.'

Tony felt a mild pricking in his conscience for the first time since his arrival. 'You're not saying you'll get fired?' he asked.

'I hope not. Anyway, I can't watch them kill people, it's just wrong! Get some rest now, Almeida.' Tony watched him walk to the other end of the ward and check on a few patients.

Three days later he was cleared by the doctor and returned to his cell. He left medical reluctantly, sensing he would need to spend a little time there every so often for a break. It was the closest he would come to normal life again.

'Let's go, convict!' ordered a guard he hadn't seen yet. 'You know the drill. Face the wall; place your hands behind your back.' Tony faced a barred window, looking onto the gates at the front of the building, as the guard grabbed one of his wrists.

_It would be impossible to climb that gate. It's too high, there's too many guards. Indeed all the walls are too high, and there's two sets of them, patrolled by dogs, AND watched by guards from towers. No, you couldn't climb anything to get out. You'd have to WALK out through the gate, like a guard._

_Almeida, what are you thinking? These people are prepared, you'd never make it! And WHERE would you go, even if you could get out? You'd be hunted from one end of the country to the other, and in case you haven't noticed, you're not exactly in top condition, right now! Damn it, that TV sure makes it hard to be stuck in here._

'I said move, convict' snapped the guard. Tony shook his head to clear it, and turned to face the door, stopping to thank the doctor for saving him. There was a lot more he wanted to thank him for, but it was impossible with the guards watching him. The doctor nodded.

'You're welcome, Almeida.'

One of the guards gave him a slight push to get him moving. The other guard held the door open and he followed him out, fixing his eyes straight ahead. They walked towards the steel doors, stopping him while they were opened, marching him across the courtyard, deeper into the prison, further from the gates.

_Will you quit thinking about the gates!_

The steel doors to his block were opened and he followed the guards inside, taking a last look at the sky. It was bright blue, cloudless, calling him outdoors. The kind of day he would be tempted to take sick leave, back when he first started at CTU. He groaned inside. One month without outdoor privileges, he'd spent three weeks in the hole and in medical, which left just over a week stuck indoors. Raising his head higher he followed the guard along the floor, stopping at his cell. A silence greeted his arrival. Once again every prisoner on the block moved to their bars, watching him being returned. He marched to the back of his cell, faced the wall and waited till his handcuffs were removed. Once the guards had left he settled in his familiar corner, staring at the bars. He had his photo back. Now he would have to find another hiding spot and keep it safe. Tonight he would fall asleep to her smile.


	7. Chapter Seven: Davis' Visit

The afternoon passed slowly, filled with curses yelled across the block and loud clanging. To his amazement none of them seemed directed at him any more. He laid Michelle's photo carefully into his blanket and settled in the corner, unsure whether to be thankful he survived to be returned, or to be dismayed.

In many ways it would have been a lot easier just to die underground. _So why did you fight so hard to stay alive, Almeida? You really think you're gonna be able to get a couple of letters out? You're nuts._

A note fell into his cell, distracting him from his self destructive thoughts. He gazed at it dully for a moment before returning his focus on the bars. A hand poked through them startling him.

'Hey, Almeida. Get up. The guards are coming. If you leave that note in full view on the floor you'll be lugged, and so will the person who wrote you. Pick it up quick!'

Tony remained where he was for another moment, unable to find any emotion to worry about the note. 'You'll get thrown back inside the hole,' continued his neighbor, more urgently. 'Get up now.'

Slowly he uncurled a leg, pushing himself up. He placed his foot on the note seconds before the guards walked past. They gave him a hard look and continued past his cell. He bent down to retrieve the note, walking over to the toilet. He had no friends here, that was certain. He had survived eight days of insults after the first fight, receiving dozens of notes threatening to kill him. He paused at the last moment, carrying it back to his corner instead. After all, he had no reading material aside from his family's letters for another month, and nobody had sworn at him since he'd dealt with the convicts in the shower.

_Amigo_

_You done great! Welcome back. Stick your hand outside the bars for a moment._

He read the short note again, puzzled. Once again he rose, flushing it down the toilet, before he moved over to the front of his cell. The guards patrolled the opposite end of the block, their backs to him. He pushed his arms out, gazing upwards, wishing he could see something from the catwalk on top of him.

Something hard was pushed into his hands. His fingers closed over it automatically, drawing it inside his cell. He found himself holding a thick book with a damaged cover. Tony moved it rapidly into the corner, knowing he would be questioned should it be spotted as he was not permitted reading material for another month. He settled down, leaning against the walls for support and opened the cover page, intending to glance through it before he returned it. To his surprise it proved interesting, a novel about a couple of spies. He turned to the first chapter and began reading. The guards wandered past, unable to see the book from the angle he sat in. Tony read several chapters before he heard the usual clang reverberating round the block – the arrival of a meal.

He ate his dinner hungrily, unable to feel full since his time in the hole, despite Dr Lahti at the infirmary handing him extra portions. Dully he wandered whether he would ever again stop feeling hungry. He had noticed several prisoners were able to purchase extra food from the shop, but although he was certain both his parents and Michelle had transferred him money he was denied the right to what was termed 'shopping privileges.' Sighing, he scraped his fork across the empty plate, gathering the tiniest scraps up.

_Stop thinking about food, Almeida! You know you'll only feel worse if you do! Read a little more and then it will be lights out soon. You'll get fed again tomorrow!_

He returned his tray to the slot and settled back with his book. The lights dimmed without warning, and a guard moved to the center of the floor. 'It's lights out!' _As though I hadn't noticed!_ 'Anyone caught talking will get the strip cell. Shut the hell up.'

Tony brushed his teeth rapidly and lay under the blanket, placing the book at his feet. He pulled the cover back and gently kissed Michelle's photo. 'Goodnight, sweetheart. I feel a little dizzy, but I'm not at all tired. I love you so much.'

He closed his eyes, thinking of his parents' words to him at his bail hearing, after he had apologized for letting them down. "Tony, you protected Michelle, you done as you should have. I raised you that way, remember?"

'I remember,' he whispered softly, closing his eyes. His father had never tolerated him quarrelling with his sisters, arguing with them. He grinned faintly, remembering snatching a toy bear from Janey and pushing her over. "Tony! Come here!" his father ordered, annoyance in his voice. He walked over slowly, knowing he had pushed her too hard. "If ever I see you push your sister, or hit her, or any girl AT ALL, I will spank you. Do you understand?" He nodded. "Si, but she's got my bear." Mr. Almeida frowned at him. "You weren't playing with it now, were you? Let her have it for a bit." He had watched her pushing the bear around in a toy pram until he couldn't take it any longer, returning upstairs for her rabbit. Janey had howled in protest as he carried it into the living room, pulling it from his hand, while he held onto it. "Gimme my wabbit". "Gimme my bear first," he demanded, refusing to let go. She had bitten his hand, leaving marks along one side, and he had pushed her over. "Tony, upstairs," his father ordered. "Didn't I warn you about fighting just now?" He was smacked. After a few occasions he had indeed learned the lesson.

Tony sighed heavily, longing to see his family again. 'You taught me more than that, papa.' He had been taught to help his mother and sisters whenever he noticed they needed something, doing so automatically long before he started school. His younger sister Rita felt absolutely secure swapping insults with the girls next door. "Rita, I'll come over and push you off that swing." "No you won't, I'll call Tony!" she yelled back, while he held a hand over his mouth, struggling to remain silent. They handed him unfinished homework to complete, dragged him with them to watch them at ballet. "Please come watch, Tony." He groaned aloud, but took them every week, knowing his mother appreciated a little rest. Quite honestly, he adored playing older brother.

He shifted restlessly, unable to sleep as he had spent so many days in bed in the infirmary, and hadn't been allowed outdoors. Somehow he would have to settle down. Wandering round the cell after lights out was strictly forbidden, as was sitting up. He rolled onto his side, staring through the bars. The main floor was lit and he stared straight across, into a dim cell, knowing Sanchez was locked inside.

_I thought they were all scum, all prisoners, but I was wrong. Some people break the law, but don't lose their humanity. Prison hardens them, but essentially they're no worse than lots of 'ordinary people' outside the law never caught up with. I got nothing, yet Rodriguez lent me a book. Sanchez brought me the photo when I was sick, knowing it's the only thing that means anything to me. They're NOT bad. Wander why they bother being kind to me, I'm not like them; I'm not part of their group? I don't even have anything to share with them. They'll all get out someday and I never will, and they know it, yet they bother to help me. Seems you still got a lot to learn, Almeida!_

He wished he were back in the infirmary, hating the close confines of the cell. He could really have done with watching a little TV that night, he wasn't tired at all. Sighing in frustration he rolled over onto his stomach. _Go to sleep, Almeida! There's nothing to do now. Yeah, and tomorrow will be sooo exciting! _He grinned in the darkness, surprised to see a little spark of sarcasm remained.

Tony fell asleep after the guards patrolled the catwalk a dozen times, knowing he had lain awake for several hours. He awoke exhausted and hungry a few minutes before the siren, frowning in irritation as it interrupted his dreams of home. He pulled his clothes and shoes on, made his bed and settled aimlessly on it. He picked up a letter and read it again, his heart aching. Why hadn't he appreciated his freedom before it was ripped away from him? He had thought nothing of picking up his phone and calling one of his brothers or sisters, and driving to meet them in the evening. A meal out with Michelle had been fun, but he had been certain they would enjoy hundreds more.

The breakfast trolley interrupted his brooding. He carried his tray over to his table and ate his bowl of almost hot porridge first, glad he was hungry. Two toasts with marmalade lay on a small dish beside his bowl; he ate them sipping his tea. _Why won't they ever bring coffee here?_

Once the trays were removed he settled in his corner, reading chapter two of the novel, grateful to Rodriguez for lending it to him. For a while he lost himself in the story, in someone else's life threatening problems. The wail of the siren startled him, dragging him back to his nightmare. He saw the prisoners stand in front of their doors eagerly, abandoning all other pursuits. The doors opened. For the briefest second he hoped they might forget he was punished and open his door too, but it remained locked. Tony forced his emotions aside and watched the prisoners line up and go outside. He got a good look at his neighbor, the man who had insisted he pick up the note.

_Thank goodness he made me pick it up._ He resolved never to let himself sink so low again.

Swallowing, he picked up the book and settled down to continue it in the corner, telling himself to keep an ear open for any approaching guard. He had perfected that technique in the army on his desert patrols, sleeping soundly with an ear 'on duty' at all times, able to waken at the slightest sound. His instincts worked as well as they had back then, warning him well in advance of approaching footsteps. He closed the book rapidly and placed it directly behind the bed, hoping no one would enter his cell. Judging by the sound of the footsteps the guard walked alone, moving purposefully towards him.

Tony moved to sit on his chair, elbows propped on the table, head in his hands, watching the man approach through cracks in his fingers. His heart sank, recognizing his old enemy.

'Well good morning, convict Almeida! You don't seem too cheery today! Get up at once when you're addressed, or you'll be on reduced rations the rest of the week.'

Tony got up immediately, placing his hands behind his back, fixing his gaze on the floor, not wishing to provoke Davis. Experience taught him such people liked to have their say, make a few threats and leave if left uninterrupted. He resolved to listen silently to Davis' lecture and agree with him whenever the situation called for agreement. His head spun slightly as he stood at attention, reminding him of his body's weakness. Further punishment would push him beyond a point even the doctor would be unable to pull him back from. He wandered why Davis chose to come and talk to him now, when he was alone in the block.

'So you're an infamous traitor, Almeida,' Davis began, watching him for any reaction. 'What did you do, ah? Look at me, convict! I asked you a question.'

Tony raised his eyes reluctantly, knowing he would read a challenge within Davis he would find hard to ignore. 'It's classified' he replied. 'I'm not allowed to speak of it.'

Davis almost sighed in disappointment. 'Why'd you do it?' he persisted. 'This country gave you a lot, Almeida.'

_I gave the country a lot, too._ He remained silent, lowering his eyes, hating the term 'traitor'. _Get used to it, Almeida – it's what you are, remember?_

Davis tapped his foot impatiently outside. 'This country trusted you. They paid for your education and made you an officer. Were you a traitor then too, Almeida?'

Tony shook his head, bile rising into his throat. 'No,' he answered hoarsely.

'I wander,' Davis remarked, sounding doubtful. 'Who the hell knows where your loyalty really lies, ah, Almeida. I mean, it wouldn't mean that much to you, turning against us. Your parents aren't even American, are they?'

'My mother's American,' he answered hotly. 'They've been here for a real long time!'

Davis shrugged, resting a hand on the bars. 'Raise your eyes, convict,' he snapped, watching to make sure Tony complied. 'So how did it feel, when they captured you?'

Tony gazed back at him through the bars. He shook his head slightly. 'I felt nothing,' he replied.

Davis laughed aloud. 'Bullshit! Next you'll be telling me you felt 'nothing' when they put you in handcuffs for the first time.'

_That wasn't the first time I got to wear them! How did I feel then, when they shoved me against a wall and placed cuffs on me? I don't know, really, startled, humiliated, resigned._ He remained silent, swallowing more bile down.

The supervisor shook his head. 'Thought about it, Almeida? About staying here the rest of your life? You've not got a real large space, have you?' They gazed at each other in silence for a few seconds. 'What's it like, locked inside there? Looking out through those bars all day long? You don't talk much, do you? A good thing, I expect. Oh, I almost forgot why I came. Your mother wrote, she seems to miss you! Lemme see, ah, here…' He pulled a letter from his pocket.

Tony's fists clenched. He felt the beginning of a wild fury, and fought it down, knowing he would be punished for the slight sign of rebellion. 'That's my mail, Davis. It's private – you're supposed to hand it over to me.'

'Oh, I will, don't you worry, after I censor it. Can't have a traitor receiving unchecked mail from outside, particularly not from a known sympathizer.'

Tony let out a strangled cry of rage, falling silent immediately afterwards, cursing himself for having been goaded into betraying emotion.

'What did you say, Almeida?' Davis asked, satisfied.

'Nothing,' Tony replied, lowering his eyes.

'You forgot something, Almeida. When you address me, you say "sir". Let's hear it.'

Tony let out a deep breath, counting to three. 'Nothing, sir,' he replied.

'That's better,' Davis told him. 'See you don't forget, next time. Now the letter:

_Dear Tony_ Davis gave a snort. _We really miss you. All those things we'd planned over the last few weeks have gone; we didn't do most of them, of course! Nobody felt like having a picnic at the beach, or dinner with Anna, or anything else. We stay home a lot, after work – its real quiet. Some friends came while you were awaiting your trial, they said they're sorry and tried to invite us, but we'd rather just stay alone right now._ 'I'm not surprised,' he interrupted the letter. 'I wouldn't want to show my face either, with such a son.'

Tony shuffled his feet impatiently. 'You gonna read me the rest of my letter?' he asked through gritted teeth.

Davis laughed at him, glancing through the letter. 'I might, if you ask properly.' His eyes met Tony's.

Tony nodded slowly, in disgust. 'OK, I'm asking real nice. Read me my letter or hand it over.'

Davis peered through the bars at him. 'I didn't hear "please" or "sir", convict' he snapped.

Tony tilted his head to the side, staring straight through the bars at his letter. 'Please would you be kind enough to read me the rest of my mail, sir,' he forced out.

'Now that's a bit better, Almeida, though I detect a hint of hostility in your tone. Lemme see…' Davis glanced through the letter. '_Janey went to_…no, that's not interesting, _Marco and Bobby are in_…you're not supposed to know that…._Rita wrote a book about_….hell, who'd wanna read that?...and there's lots more people mentioned. I'll have to try and make sure it's not some kind of code before you can have the letter.'

'They're my RELATIVES,' Tony almost yelled. 'Check my file, they're all listed.'

Davis gave a placating nod. 'I'm sure they are. I'll just have to check through them all, you can't expect me to memorize all that, can you? Hell, a rat wouldn't have that many relatives as you claim to have.'

_You will be silent, Almeida! Keep your hands behind your back, don't you dare move them! You will NOT attempt to strangle him; you're in NO condition for further punishment. He will go soon; he can see he's managed to upset you._

They gazed at each other through the bars, Davis smirking slightly as he replaced the letter in his pocket. 'After all, Almeida, I've got to be real careful with your correspondence. You're not a simple murderer or rapist, you know, you're a dangerous traitor. I wanna hear you say that.'

Tony shifted his weight to his other foot, unable to believe what he had just heard. His momentary confusion didn't escape Davis.

'Are you deaf, convict. I just gave you an order. I wanna know what you are, why you're here.'

'Go read my file,' Tony muttered, turning away. He was going to be punished for his rudeness after all, but he had been pushed beyond his limit. He would die underground, this time.

'Almeida, face the door,' snapped Davis, 'or you'll end up on reduced rations.'

Tony turned slowly, amazed the hole wasn't mentioned.

'I wanna hear you tell me what you're called in the file, Almeida.' Davis gazed at him challengingly.

'A traitor,' Tony muttered, forcing each syllable out. 'I'm a bloody traitor, ok, Davis.' He turned away, blinking back hot tears, relieved to hear the supervisor walk away from the cell.


	8. Chapter Eight: The Lawyer

Tony lay on his stomach, head pressed into the pillow, dreaming of returning home from work. Eyes tightly shut, he saw himself climbing out of his SUV, locking it and fishing the keys from his pocket, opening his front door. He carried a box of chocolates in his hand, tiptoeing upstairs to the bathroom, handing them to Michelle. She gave him a smile that warmed his heart and invited him to join her in the tub. He returned to his room to remove his clothes and….

'Convict Almeida, get up! Move to the back of your cell and place your hands behind your back!' snapped a harsh voice.

He moved slowly, furious at having his quiet time interrupted. During the week without outdoor privileges he permitted himself two hours to daydream, concentrating on being home so completely that he could swear he really WAS there. He blinked to return to reality, noticing two guards waiting in front of his cell. He faced the wall, allowing the cold cuffs to be placed on his wrists, turning to follow them outside. The block was silent. Today he was the only one held back from the exercise period.

_Where are they taking me? I haven't done anything wrong! I haven't done anything at ALL, since I got back_.

They led him to the steel doors at the far end of the block, and across the courtyard to the administration block. Tony's heart beat faster. Where was he going? Surely not to the warden? His unease increased inside the block, as he was marched up the stairs leading to his office. He sighed in relief as he noticed the leading guard continuing his steady pace past the door, further along the corridor. A double set of steel doors halted them while the guard opened them. So this place was meant for prisoners. What could it be?

He was led along the short corridor to the furthest door and ordered to face the wall, while the door was unlocked. A guard walked in, and he was ordered to follow. Tony found himself inside a small room with a table and two chairs bolted to the floor. He recognized it immediately as an interrogation room. A guard pushed him down by his shoulders onto a seat, and cuffed his leg to the table. The cuffs on his wrists were removed. So someone was coming to talk to him, someone who didn't feel threatened by him. The cuff on his leg was merely to prevent him wandering around the room.

Excitement filled him, bringing a rush of hope that he firmly suppressed. This was some official visitor, not a relative. Whoever was coming had something for him to sign, and that could be bad news as well as good. Really, he hadn't had any good news at all since his arrest. The guards left the room, leaving him to settle his emotions.

Half an hour later his unease mounted. Nobody had come to talk to him yet. Questions chased each other through his brain. He felt slightly sick.

The door opened to admit a guard together with his lawyer. Tony stared in the greatest astonishment, not having expected to see him after the trial. 'Paul, how are you?'

'My God, Tony, I thought I was doing you a favor when I got you off the death penalty' his lawyer exclaimed. 'You look awful.' He watched the guard leaving the room. 'Have the guards been beating you?'

Tony shook his head. 'No, they haven't touched me. I had some problems with a couple of prisoners, but they're resolved now.' He ran a hand along his hair. He hoped they were totally resolved. Summers continued to make him uneasy.

His lawyer sat down opposite him, placing a few folders on the table. 'Have you seen Michelle?' Tony began. 'How is she? Is she ok with me being in here now?' His eyes searched the lawyer's face for any hint of emotion, using all the interrogation techniques they had taught him. Something about the face disturbed him. 'What's wrong, Paul? You can tell me.'

The lawyer laid both elbows on the table, placing his chin in his hands. 'Tony, you don't deserve what I'm about to tell you. Unfortunately there's no one else who can do this.' He paused, looking regretful.

A cold fist clenched around Tony's heart. 'It's ok, Paul. I can take it. Tell me.'

A long sigh escaped the lawyer. 'They stripped you of your belongings last week, Tony. I'm sorry. I fought it as long as I could, but legally I lacked a leg to stand on. All I could do was delay the ruling.' He regarded Tony gravely.

'What did they take? How?' Tony demanded.

'Everything. They took,' he opened a folder and read from the paper, 'your boat.'

'What' Tony answered, his thoughts too confused to permit him to form a more elaborate sentence. 'It's old.' He had bought the small motorboat on leave from the army. It was really not large enough to be taken out on the ocean, though he had of course done so dozens of times, flying from one wave to the next. 'It's got to be around 30 years old by now! Hell, it's practically worthless.'

'Item number one, speedboat, official valuation 4000. Item number two, a grey SUV, official valuation 40 000.'

'That's my car,' Tony exclaimed, in shock. 'It's the first new car I ever bought. It's Michelle's, you witnessed me sign it over to her.'

The lawyer stared at the ground. 'We were too late. Since you committed your indiscretion and were charged the same day, the legal system reserves the right to consider every one of your possession forfeit from that date onwards. You signed everything over to Michelle two days after your bail hearing.'

'But they locked me in prison. I'm already serving my sentence. How can they take my things?' He rubbed his face vigorously.

'Treason is a crime against the nation, Tony. The nation reserves the right to remove all possessions from persons acting against its interests. They've invoked that right, in your case.'

Tony stood up, fully intending to pace the room, being brought up short by the cuff that secured his ankle to the table. He swore softly and settled back down. 'What do mean, "in your case?" Don't they take it from everyone?'

'Not many people are convicted of treason. The last two still have their estate intact, though of course are not around to enjoy it.'

'Then why me?' Tony demanded furiously. 'I served the nation almost my entire adult life. I got countless injuries in the line of duty. Why pick on me?'

His lawyer shook his head. 'I can't answer that.'

'OK. What else did they take,' Tony demanded.

'They closed your bank account and took all 10 000 there. I know,' he held up a hand to silence Tony's protest, 'that Michelle had access to that account, but it was technically on your name.'

'It was opened before I ever met her. She could access it from her card. Hell, she used it more than I did.'

'I know, Tony, but it was still in YOUR name. I'm sorry.'

_They stole my car. They took my money. They took my boat. Wasn't taking my life enough for them. How DARE they take my things? I signed EVERYTHING over to Michelle. How DARE they ignore that?_

They faced each other in silence. The lawyer fiddled with the file while Tony examined his shoes, attempting to calm himself. 'They satisfied they got everything I worked for?' he asked, bitterly. The lawyer remained silent, attempting to look away. Tony narrowed his eyes, pointing at him. 'What else did they take? Damn it, tell me!'

'I'm still fighting the next item. I don't hold out much hope, but we might have a chance.'

'What else have I got left, Paul? Seems like you covered everything already.'

'Your block in Mexico. They already took possession of the title deeds, but I am challenging that.'

Tony's face paled. After his death his grandfather's farm had been subdivided into several blocks, most of which he left to his Mexican grandchildren. He had left the block on the hill to Tony, his favorite grandchild. His head began to throb sickeningly. He had been back only once since his grandfather's death, to the funeral. He hadn't been able to build anything on the block, didn't have the heart to return there. He faced his lawyer, struggling to form words. 'That property is in MEXICO. They can't take that from me.'

'They have the right to strip you of everything, Tony. Yesterday the title deeds were sent over by the local council. Fortunately they took a while to find the paperwork, enabling me to lodge an appeal. At least until the appeal goes through they are unable to sell the block.'

Tony shook his head, wordless. His eyes begged the lawyer to continue.

'Now I know this must be painful…'

_Painful? It's killing me. I WON'T give them the block!_

'How can they confiscate a property from abroad? I inherited that; it's nothing to do with the US government.' He glared at the lawyer. 'I won't accept that.'

'Tony, as long as any of your possessions are in your name and have monetary value, they have every right to confiscate it. You are an American citizen, not a Mexican, so yes; they can take your land and keep the money from its sale. My challenge is based on the tenuous claim that your grandfather should in fact have left the property to his son, your father, rather than to you. He left the twelve other blocks to his daughter and grandchildren, but nothing to your father. I am in effect challenging his will.'

'What,' Tony managed to stammer.

'There's no way you can keep that land, Tony. Now I know it has sentimental, as well as financial value, so at least someone in your family should keep it. Now your grandfather has been dead five years now, and the case has of course to be heard in Mexico, so I've had to hire a lawyer from there to deal with the matter.'

Tony buried his head in his hands. 'Doesn't seem like I can afford another lawyer, Paul. Is John paying for that?' His cheeks burned, knowing he was costing his brother in law a fortune in legal fees. Without John he wouldn't have been able to afford adequate legal representation in the first place and would certainly have been handed the death penalty.

'Tony, right now you're not the only one facing problems, though admittedly yours tops the list. John's assets have been frozen pending the outcome of an investigation into his company by the Department of Internal Revenue. His father is handling all my costs.'

'What?' he heard himself exclaim. 'Why? John's always been the most honest guy I know. Wait a minute.' He got up again, exclaiming in irritation at being unable to take a step. 'Why now? It's because of me, isn't it? They wanted to execute me, and he paid you to defend me, and they're pissed off with him, so they'll hassle him any way they can. It's wrong, Paul, and you know it.'

'I know he has nothing to fear, but he is greatly inconvenienced at the moment, being unable to extend the business as he planned.'

'Tell him I'm real sorry,' Tony muttered. 'And to forget about me now.'

'He had a message for you. "Chin up, Tony, I'll get you out. We'll get to watch the US Open in the summer." It's a little optimistic, of course.'

Tony blinked tears away. He could face any blow dealt him, but kindness was harder to ignore. Now he had mixed his best friend and brother in law up in his own problems, and the guy wasn't irritated with him.

'Sit down, Tony. There's the matter of the house.'

Tony sank back onto his chair. He shook his head. 'No, Paul. It's enough for now.'

_Please go now. Go, while I still can dream of Michelle at home. Don't take that from me_.

'I've got to go through this entire list with you, this morning, get you to sign the document, before I can go. It won't take much longer. Now you and Michelle owned only 50 of the house, paying off the mortgage every month for the remainder. The bank recalled its loan last month, giving Michelle until next week to repay the outstanding amount. Obviously she won't be able to do so in that period, indeed she would have struggled with the mortgage itself. She'll be forced to place the house on the market.'

'How can the bank recall its loan?' Tony had to force the words out now. 'We put in a lot more than the minimum amount every month, we have a substantial equity. And Michelle was paying the mortgage as usual.'

'They also have legal grounds for doing so, I'm afraid. They claim the mortgage agreement was signed with both of you, and you're obviously unable to honor your part of the agreement, so they're recalling the loan.'

'So it's gonna go, soon?' He was already crying inside, barely managing to show a blank face to the lawyer.

_My house. We hadn't even fixed it up yet._

'Yes. Now after the bank takes its outstanding 50, and charges fees for the termination of the agreement, which will take a couple of 1000 also, Michelle will be allowed to keep half the remaining amount. The other half, your share, is also forfeit. I'm sorry, Tony. Had the property been fully owned by the two of you, they would have been unable to touch it.'

'They're not leaving anything for Michelle, are they?' he asked. 'They've already made sure I'd never get to see any of my things again – why can't they let her enjoy them?'

'Seems you're an example to other agents. You need to sign the official confiscation order, Tony.' He pushed the document across the table, handing him a pen. 'Just to show you've been notified.'

'And if I don't? Would it make any difference?' He gazed at the document before him in despair.

'You are required to sign. No, it makes no difference; your property is already confiscated. Come on, sign there. If ever you get a pardon, this list is necessary, just in case you can reclaim something.'

Tony laughed bitterly, signing the bottom of the document. 'There. That should satisfy the Justice Department. Are we done now, Paul?'

The lawyer replaced the document in a folder, laying it back in his briefcase. He pulled a second folder out. 'Not quite. There's something for you to read. Take all the time you need.' He rang the bell and a guard let him out, leaving Tony to open the brown folder. A short note fell out, which he picked up with trembling hands, recognizing the writing.

Dear Tony

I miss you terribly. Right now I'm unable to send you any mail that won't be censored, so I asked Paul to take this to you. I'm truly sorry for the nature of his visit, and he is too. Sweetheart, I'll be fine. Somehow I'll try to re-negotiate our loan – I'll keep the house whatever happens. There's got to be somewhere for you to return to.

I'll be sent on two courses, one to Washington and the other to New York soon. You won't believe it, but I got a promotion! It's in Division, which is great. I feel so guilty when I show up, thinking about you. You should've left me to die, Tony, rather than ruin your whole life. I would've understood, you know.

I guess I don't feel as bad about the courses as you're not permitted visitors right now anyway. A change would be great too. I keep seeing your things in every room in the house. Do as you're told and try to avoid trouble, honey, so we can visit you soon. Michelle

'It's real hard for her at the moment,' his lawyer told him, appearing again. 'Did you have a chance to look at the document?' he asked, pointing to the papers inside the brown folder. Tony shook his head. 'Look, I need you to sign that form. Read it now, Tony.'

Tony removed an official looking form with CTU's logo on the top, his face turning red as he glanced through it. It was an official statement terminating his employment, citing treason as the reason for his dismissal. A final paragraph stripped him of his right to any money in his pension fund.

'I know it's hard right now,' the lawyer said gently, 'but try to picture their point of view. They trusted you as their leader. Apparently quite a lot of people there took your actions badly. They're having a hard time…'

'And I'm not?' Tony yelled, surprising them both with his rage. 'I get to sit in my cell day in, day out. If they are pleased with me, I get to go outside to a dusty yard for two hours in the mornings. If they're not impressed with me, I don't get to go out. Right now they're not real impressed. They enter my cell whenever they want, I get to face the wall while they search through my clothes, and I'm not allowed to open my mouth, or I won't get my full dinner. I don't get to see any visitors for the next ten months because I fought back when I was attacked by some real scum, I had my arm slashed with a knife,' he rolled up his sleeve to show his scar, 'and I got locked deep underground in the pitch dark. I am not permitted any TV, radio or computer. I am not permitted my guitar. I am not permitted any of my books. Right now I'm not even permitted any library books. I am not allowed to write more than one letter a week, which has to be less than a thousand words, and which is censored. I'm not allowed any photos for a year. All I get to do is sit in my cell and look at the bars.'

He stopped abruptly, aware his voice shook during the last sentence.

'I'm sorry Tony, truly I am. We'll lodge an appeal against the confiscation of your Mexican block. Beyond that there is nothing I can do for you anymore. Sign CTU's documents. Let go quietly. It's better that way.' He handed the pen to Tony and opened the file.

Tony gazed at Hammond's handwriting on the form, attempting to harden his heart. 'Where do I sign?' he asked dully, unable to scan every page. The lawyer opened the pages requiring a signature and he signed rapidly, pushing the pen across the table with such force it fell on the floor.

'We're done now.' He turned his face away as the lawyer placed the folder into his briefcase, retrieved the pen and exited the room.


	9. Chapter Nine: Cell Search

Tony was unable to remember the trip back to his cell. When he next noticed his surroundings he was back in his familiar corner, head in his hands. Michelle's photo lay exposed to the full view of any passerby on his lap. Blinking rapidly, he moved the picture to his pocket. Automatically he raised his head, checking to see whether anyone had noticed the movement.

Noises floated all around him, the curses and insults that flew between the cells all day. None of the prisoners within direct view of his cell spared him a glance.

_Guess they must be pretty sick of such a boring guy as me by now_.

No guard stood outside his cell. It appeared the photo was safe. Slowly he placed his hand in his pocket, withdrawing the picture, taking care to keep it shielded. Michelle smiled up at him, hair hanging loose, her eyes twinkling in amusement. Exactly the way she used to look whenever he teased her, throwing her into fits of laughter until her merriment amused him too, and he would begin to laugh with her. He closed his eyes, seeing her sitting opposite him at Division.

It was eleven at night, and the meeting they were both required to attend dragged on without any sign of ending. Chappelle sat at his usual spot at the head of the table, and he had sat at his favorite place near the end. Michelle had been home to change and had slipped in late, sitting directly opposite him. The meeting had contained little of importance, and he had noticed her eyes blinking, growing smaller. 'Now what was the next item?' Chappelle asked himself, opening the second page in his folder. 'Where can it be?' Michelle looked hopeful. He had known what she was thinking – she was hoping he wouldn't find it and they could all go home. He saw Chappelle withdraw a few papers in annoyance. 'Bound to be in there somewhere, Ryan,' he heard himself say. 'Otherwise we can discuss all the notes, we got plenty of time!' Michelle had covered her mouth with her hand, her eyes betraying her amusement. Chappelle had thrown him an irritated look. 'Almeida, have you got anything useful to add? Keep quiet if you don't.' He glanced at Michelle, seeing her growing amusement and rolled his eyes at her. Her shoulders began to shake. She pressed her hand tighter around her mouth, her eyes betraying her amusement. He gazed into them, feeling an answering smile on his own face. He chewed his lips hard to settle down, but he couldn't. She was right across from him, laughing silently, drawing him along with her. In desperation he pressed his own hand over his mouth, looking firmly at the floor. 'Can't seem to find them, I suppose we'll have to adjourn for the night. Almeida, is something wrong?' He had shaken his head, unable to speak or even move his hand from his mouth. Chappelle had thrown him a truly irritated look. 'Alright, we'll meet next Wednesday, you may all go, except you, Almeida. There's something I must discuss with you.' _Oh great_. He nodded firmly, ordering himself to focus and nearly managed; when he felt a hand on his shoulder and saw her, noting her amusement. 'See you home sometime tomorrow, Tony.' The laughter rose inside him, until he was unable to contain it any longer. 'More likely back at the office, sweetheart.' And having managed to get that sentence out he set them both into peals of laughter. Michelle withdrew hastily, while he rushed for the bathroom, pouring cold water on his face, ordering himself to settle.

Her photo smiled at him the same way, only this time he was reminded of all he had lost. The house, car, boat, his money, and his grandfather's land were terrible enough to lose. Far worse was the loss of his ability to hold her in his arms, get fussed over by her. He really would have needed her complete support that day. Tears filled his eyes. He made no attempt to wipe them away. His head rested in his hand, the photo clutched tightly in the other. He allowed himself to remember every detail of their life, recalling her words to him – happy words, tired words, and the annoyed words she'd uttered when she was cross with him.

_Dammit, I'd give ANYTHING to hear you, sweetheart. Hell, I'd even be thrilled to hear you yell at me! I WANTED you to come yell at me. I wanted to try to explain. I never got a real chance to try and tell you what I felt. I really need a chance to say goodbye._

Tears spilled from swollen eyes, flowing unchecked down his cheeks, wetting his hands. A few drops ran between his fingers, wetting his trousers at his drawn up knees. The remaining drops ran straight down his chin, moistening his t-shirt. Sobs shook him, rising from deep within his chest.

_My friend, I saw your handwriting. You love me so much, and you can't even write me a private letter anymore, being forced to resort to notes smuggled in by my lawyer. How I wish I could have hugged you one final time._

He was unable to stop the tears. Every time he drew a breath to calm himself another memory would rise unbidden. He saw himself watching her struggling with her backpack on their camping holiday, lifting it off her back, groaning at the weight. 'Honey, you SURE you need to bring all these things?' She'd looked at him seriously. 'Sure, Tony, we're camping for the whole weekend.' He'd laughed at that. 'Sweetheart, I was sent into combat with a less than a quarter of this stuff, and it was for a great deal longer than a weekend!' Fresh tears filled his eyes.

Lunch appeared on a tray, pushed into the slot. He knew better than to ignore it. When the trolley had moved further along the row he pulled himself up and collected it, dumping the entire contents into the toilet. It required three flushes before it disappeared, spinning round. Once he ascertained nothing floated on the water he returned the tray to the slot, walking back to his corner.

It appeared he was out of tears. Tony rested his aching head in his hands, hearing the trolley returning to collect his tray. He didn't spare it a glance. He was broken inside, ripped apart. _I'm a traitor, I'm a traitor._

'Hey Almeida, you ok? You need anything?' questioned his neighbor. Tony almost ignored him before he remembered there was indeed something he needed urgently. He asked for two pieces of paper and a pen, and wrote a letter to his parents bidding them farewell, and another to Michelle, reminding her of the fun they had together, and telling her he would love her to the end. He handed the pen back to Martins, asking if he'd keep the notes for a night. Sighing heavily Martins agreed. Tony kissed them both before handing them over.

Dinner arrived hours later, while he remained immobile in the corner. Once again he collected his tray and emptied it, flushing everything down before returning it to the slot. His head span, he felt violently sick. Everything was gone, further away than the day of his sentencing. He felt totally empty.

There was no mercy for him – everything he owned was ripped away, removed from her. His actions had lost her everything she had, her home, her husband, and her friendships at work. He should have acted differently with Saunders. He should have tried something else. Once again he ran through the events starting with Saunders' phone call, unable to think of a single action he could have done differently to save her in that moment.

The trolley was pushed back and his tray was removed. He left his head in his hands, feeling lost. Utterly, completely empty. He noticed the familiar guards standing in the middle of the floor, joined by Davis. Dully he wandered why Davis was there. He rarely visited the block apart from his weekly inspection of the cells. He returned his head to his hands. Things no longer concerned him. Tonight he would end it all.

_Come on, lights out! _

'Prisoner, rise and face the wall. Place your hands on your head.'

_Come ON, lights out!_

An awful clanging penetrated the fog inside him. Raising his head he saw Davis outside his cell with all six guards. They glared at him. 'Convict Almeida, are you deaf? Get up and face the wall. If I have to tell you one more time you'll spend the night down in the hole.'

Tony got up, struggling to bring himself back to the present. He had no wish to be locked in the hole again – ever. Certainly not tonight. Tonight he had other plans, his first real plans since entering the prison. Slowly he faced the wall, placing his hands on the back of his head, interlocking his fingers. He heard his door being opened. After four months of incarceration, two of them here, he didn't as much as move a muscle as they entered and stood around him.

'Convict Almeida, I have been informed that you have a contraband item inside your cell,' Davis told him. 'I'll give you a chance to save yourself from serious trouble. Tell me where it is!'

_I haven't got anything, you jerk_!

'You are aware you are forbidden to possess any personal items for the first year of your sentence. Now I ask you again, where is the picture of your wife?'

_You're a real bastard, Davis! You must know I saw my lawyer today. You know I don't get good news. Why the hell couldn't you wait till tomorrow?_

'Convict Almeida, you were asked a question. I want an answer immediately. Where is the photo?'

'There's no photo,' Tony said, his voice even.

'If I have to waste my time searching the cell you won't get it back until you're too old to recognize it!' threatened Davis. 'Hand it over at once, convict.'

'Search the cell – you're real welcome.'

_I'm not going to grow old, you bastard! And there's NO WAY you're taking that picture anywhere. I need it with me, tonight._

'Search the cell,' Davis ordered. 'Cuff him. I won't have him move.' Tony felt one of his arms pulled tightly down and a steel cuff placed on it, then his other arm was wrenched down and the cuff was locked. 'Move as much as a muscle, Convict Almeida, you'll learn what handcuffs are capable of.'

_I already learned that at Federal in LA, you jerk!_

Chewing his lip, face pressed against the plaster, he listened to them moving around. One guard searched near the toilet, lifting the lid and peering into the water cistern.

_Not a bad idea, really, hiding something there. I wouldn't have thought of it._

Two others pulled the blanket and sheets from his bed, shaking first one, then the other vigorously. They began a detailed examination of any loose stitching in the blanket, pulling bits of wool from it. After a while they laid them aside and examined the top of his mattress. It contained a large lump in the centre, pushed out by springs, which forced him to sleep on either side of the bed avoiding its sharp poke. There was also a thin hole where a piece of cotton poked through. Donning gloves a guard put his hand into the crack, searching the cavity.

Davis gazed with interest at the hole. 'Make sure nothing has been removed from that spring, would you.'

_That's right, damage it further. Soon even you guys won't be able to call it "suitable bedding". Poke around all you like, do! Watch your fingers though, those springs are real sharp. Those gloves won't help you much._

'O shit,' swore a guard, withdrawing his hand from the mattress. 'Bloody thing cut me.'

_Yes, it cut me too. It's real rusty, also, which is why I decided against putting the photo there. _

'Remove the mattress. We'll search it outside. I don't get a reaction from you, Convict Almeida. You want me to believe the photo's not there, right? We'll look anyway. Keep searching.' The guards resumed their search of the iron posts that held the mattress. 'You'll answer for the condition of that mattress, convict. I've never seen prison property so abused before.'

_It was like this when I got here, and you know it, you bastard! Why would I choose to damage my own bed? I only made the little crack._

'You can sleep on the floor tonight, convict. Hell you can sleep on the floor every night until one of your relatives decides to pay for the damage!'

Tony's fists clenched. He longed to turn around and kick Davis in the stomach. Maybe he would, as he intended to end it all that night. He had been responsible for the hole, removing a small piece from the springs much deeper down, ignoring his bleeding hands. It had appeared as just a little further deterioration of the bed.

The search continued while he faced the wall. Every piece of flooring was carefully covered, the walls were checked. His mind raced. Soon they would get to search his clothes, and he would have to move fast, pushing the picture from one location to the next.

'Alright, convict, I'll give you one final chance to hand over the picture, and whatever else you removed from the mattress,' Davis said. Tony remained silent, his nose pressed into the cold wall. 'Ok, you asked for it. Uncuff him. Make any move at all, Almeida, you'll feel my night stick.'

Tony seethed, working hard at keeping his face unreadable as he felt his cuffs removed and was ordered to turn and face them. He was ordered to remove his shirt. He sighed inwardly. This was not going to be easy. He had counted on being ordered to strip everything at once, making it easier to hide the picture. Well, he would just have to use all his training in protecting his things.

Slowly he removed his shirt, unbuttoning the top few buttons and flinging it behind him, moving the photo from its pocket to the floor, the shirt landing on it. 'Convict Almeida, pick up that shirt this instant,' Davis ordered furiously, 'and put it on the blanket.'

He picked up his shirt, moving his foot an inch, covering the picture, before rising and throwing the shirt across the room. It hit the bars at the front of his cell and fell next to them. Instinctively Davis and the guards watched its flight, whilst he pushed the picture behind the toilet. It lay on its back, white blending perfectly with white. His face registered no emotion as he saw Davis remove his night stick. 'Convict, step forward.'

He took two steps forward, being ordered to stop when he stood in the centre of the room.

_Bastard wants to beat me and watch my reaction. He won't get one!_

Davis moved to his side, raising his night stick and landing him a sound blow on his shoulders. Tony took a deep breath just before it landed, letting it out slowly. He noticed disappointment in Davis' eyes. Again the stick was raised. Tony fully expected it to land in the same position, but Davis surprised him, bending down swiftly and hitting his thigh. His leg burned, his shoulders ached. He hoped Davis was satisfied. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the stick being raised again. Rapidly he drew a deep breath, hearing the swish seconds before he received a blow across his back so hard he was propelled a step forward. Tony drew several deep breaths rapidly, keeping his eyes fixed on the same few bars he had focused on.

'Sir, he's had quite a bit now,' one of his guards protested, worried about the growl throughout the block. Davis replaced his stick.

'So he has. Let's find that picture. Remove your trousers, convict.' Tony removed them slowly, his back aching. His thigh burned as the trousers were pulled over it. He laid it down carefully, bending to place it neatly on the blanket, tucking a razor sharp grey spring into his palm. 'That's better,' Davis said, pleased. 'You're learning. Now remove your shoes.'

Tony bent down, busy with his laces, turning to cough, slipping the spring inside his mouth. His shoes were examined carefully and he was ordered to remove his underwear. He undressed slowly, feeling his shoulders protest. He placed everything on top of his trousers and watched as the guards examined his things. The sharp spring hurt his mouth, he wouldn't be able to speak while it was there. Gradually he received his clothes back, and put them on, waiting patiently for his trousers. Once they were on he was ordered back to the wall, told to place his hands above his head. He managed to slip out the spring and slide it into his hand, lowering it a moment later to rub his thigh. The spring slid unnoticed into his pocket, while Davis ordered him to place his hands on his head immediately. He did so, wishing they would go now.

'Almeida, you get top marks for concealment. Top marks.'

_OK, warn me you're going to search me again soon, and go. I got things to do now._

'We'll start the search again. Leave the mattress outside, it will have to be searched in detail. Begin along the walls. Convict, you remain facing the wall. Move one muscle…'

_Oh shit. They'll find the picture within seconds. Why the hell search the same place twice in a row? They're NOT searching my cell now._

'I'll move as many muscles as I choose,' Tony interrupted loudly. 'This is MY cell. And you'll move some too, as you leave.'

Davis and the guards gazed at him speechlessly. A banging began from somewhere in the middle of the block, gathering momentum. 'Who the hell do you think you are, convict?' cried Davis.

'That's LIEUTENANT to you, Davis,' Tony yelled, aware he had the attention of the entire block. The guards had also forgotten all about the order to begin the search anew. 'You want me to tell you about this guy?' Tony continued, listening to his voice echoing round.

_Hell, he's caused me such trouble now, he'll get some too! He will NOT search here again tonight._

'He's Corporal Davis of the marines, responsible for hassling the entire platoon when I was a private. He was much like he is now, grabbing people and writing their names down, reporting them. But when we saw action in Somalia, where was Davis?' Tony paused, amazed at the utter silence in the block as every convict strained to hear him. 'He got sick! Real convenient, right? But don't waste your tears on him; by the time we returned, he was sooooooo much better….'

Davis hit him across the stomach with his night stick, stopping his story abruptly. 'Cuff him,' he ordered, slapping Tony across the face. Cuffs were placed on him and he was hauled from the cell, struggling with two guards, allowing himself to be knocked to the ground, rolling very slightly and slipping his fingers round the photo, hiding it in his trouser pocket.

_Looks like I'm on my way to visit the warden again. Hang in there, Almeida; it's all over tonight anyway._


	10. Chapter Ten: The Cage

Tony's arms were released once the double steel doors closed, admitting him deeper into the labyrinth of blocks and courtyards. An open door stood immediately inside, and he was given a rough push towards it. The room appeared similar to a reception area, with a counter running the length of the room on the left hand side. Two private offices opened opposite the counter. One had a sign that read "Block Supervisor". Davis opened that door and went inside. Tony was ordered to stand where he was and remain absolutely still. The guards watched him for the slightest movement.

He wandered where he could be. After his damage of the mattress had been discovered, and he had prevented his cell being searched the second time, he had assumed he was being returned to the hole, but this block lay in the opposite direction. His ears strained to hear Davis, but he was unable to make out the conversation.

_Where am I now? I'm in disgrace – so this has to be some kind of punishment area. Bound to be unpleasant, as Davis brought me here. Still, at least it's not the hole. I've got my photo and the spring. Better hang onto them carefully, they'll search me here for sure._

The door opened, and Davis exited the office, followed by the block supervisor. He was tall and well built, resembling a cleaned up version of a thug. He walked round Tony slowly, examining him in great detail. 'Alright, Davis, we got him. Remove his cuffs!' Two guards held him immobile while a third removed the cuffs. 'Convict, remove your clothes!'

_Boy am I getting SICK of this game by now! "Convict, strip, convict, you may dress up now, convict strip…"_

He began to unbutton his shirt, wandering where he could conceal his photo. Six guards watched him, together with two supervisors. He stood in the centre of the room, away from any furniture. Slowly he pressed his hand inside his trouser pocket. 'Watch him,' Davis remarked. 'Remove that hand, Almeida. What have you got there?'

Tony removed his hand, opening an empty palm. 'Search him now,' Davis exclaimed suddenly. 'Bastard's got something on him, I can tell.' The other supervisor nodded his head and two guards grabbed his arms, pulling them behind him, holding him in a vice like grip. Two others felt inside his pockets. Tony moved restlessly.

'Convict, move one muscle you'll feel the taste of this stick,' warned the new supervisor, pointing to his night stick. Well, he was going to feel it anyway, he knew, as they poked through his pocket.

'I got something,' one guard exclaimed. 'Shit, it's sharp, I cut my hand!' He withdrew the sharp spring, laying it on the counter.

'Get that treated. What have we got here, convict?' The supervisors examined it closely. 'A sharpened spring!'

'Like I said, Almeida, you'll learn,' Davis told him, giving him a satisfied smirk. 'He deserves the full ten days!'

'He'll get it, alright! Remove the rest of your clothes, convict.'

Tony removed his clothes slowly; unable to believe they hadn't yet discovered his photo in the same pocket as the spring. Each item of clothing was taken by a guard and placed on top of the counter. He stood before them all naked, feeling the familiar humiliation which refused to go, no matter how many times he'd stood that way before. A guard pulled his head backwards while another forced his jaw open. His mouth was poked with a gloved hand, making him gag, while his neck felt alarmingly as though it might snap if pulled back any further. The guard withdrew his hand, shaking his head, and Tony was ordered to bend forward.

'Nothing further on the prisoner,' reported the guard.

Davis got up. 'I'm off. Enjoy your stay in administrative segregation, Almeida!' He smiled humorlessly at Tony as he left the room.

A guard handed him back his underwear, which he pulled on gratefully. Two of them pulled his hands in front of him, cuffing him. He stood immobile, waiting for the beating he was certain awaited him.

'Convict Almeida,' began the supervisor.

_Here comes the speech. You've been real bad, you're worse than the rest, wait and see what we'll do to you now – you'll be sorry you were ever born!_

'You've been removed from General Population for an infraction during your cell search. Having found you in possession of a contraband item I am sentencing you to the full ten days in a holding cell.' He paused, moving closer to Tony. 'That's on the record. Off the record, Davis is my colleague. You insulted him in front of the entire block! I'm going to teach you never, ever to open your mouth in his presence again. Deal with him.'

The supervisor moved to lean on the counter, while all six guards withdrew their nightsticks. Tony bit his lip, scared. He had expected a beating, but only a few blows with a stick. This would be bad.

_Hang in there, Almeida. Don't look now, mom!_

Six blows landed on him simultaneously, followed randomly by dozens more, several blows at a time. He bore it silently as long as he could stand, swaying under the blows. With a groan he collapsed to the ground, his knees being unable to steady him after a particularly savage blow to his lower back. He pushed his hands out to break his fall, lowering himself gently to the floor, curling up to protect his stomach, pushing his elbows against his ribs.

_Haven't you bastards heard "you don't kick a man when he's down?"_

They apparently hadn't. His beating continued with the same savage ferocity as before. Blows landed on his entire body – from the soles of his feet to the top of his shoulders. Only his head was spared. A few screams came out involuntarily as blows landed on top of blows newly received. It took several minutes for him to pass out.

He awoke to intense pain that coursed through his back with every breath he took. He moved his body slowly, stopping seconds later. Every part of him ached. He breathed slowly for several minutes before opening his eyes. He lay in a tiny cell no larger than a cage. It was bare, containing nothing beyond a mattress on which he lay. He took a deeper breath, gagging. A strong stench assailed him. Opening his eyes wider he noticed the condition of the mattress, rolling off immediately despite his protesting body. It was thick with grime, covered with dried blood, and vomit. Evidently he wasn't the first one thrown there after being taught a lesson.

He lay on cold tiles, slightly less filthy than the mattress, longing to drink a little water, but there was no tap in sight. Tony turned his head away from the mattress and closed his eyes, resolving to keep his ears attuned to the return of the guard. He would have to ask for water.

He was ready to weep with frustration by the time he heard a guard patrolling the corridor. Struggling upright, he grasped the bars and waited till he saw him. 'Please could you bring me some water?' he asked.

The guard continued his same measured stride down the corridor without acknowledging his presence. Tony watched him walking away, sinking back down. He contemplated banging and yelling but decided against it. Knowing this place, it would only delay the arrival of his drink.

_God I'm SO sick of this place! I hate Davis, I hate this other supervisor, I hate Dogface – I know it was him who told Davis about the photo's existence, I hate all the other prisoners, I hate the warden, I hate all the guards, I hate being beaten, insulted, pushed around, handcuffed, restrained, searched, stripped – I hate everything about this place. I hate showering only once a week! I hate using cold water only. I hate being forced to wear the same clothes for three weeks at a time! I hate the dusty yard. I hate the same mind numbing boring routine. I hate being denied access to my parents. I hate not being with Michelle. I hate being watched at all times in my cell. I hate prison._

_I hate CTU. Haven't I worked hard enough for them all these years, putting in hours of unpaid overtime? Haven't I arrested enough terrorists for them? Did I ever let anyone down before? NO, I DIDN'T. And what do they do to me? They knew I was under duress. They couldn't have cared less. They got to see the footage of Michelle being held at knifepoint. Hammond didn't even permit the footage to be shown at my trial._

_I hate Hammond! Why the hell couldn't he have kept the matter within CTU? He could have quietly fired me. He could have given such a bad reference I'd never get another job again. The bastard could hardly wait to take me to Federal; hardly concentrate on getting the last vial as he was gloating over me in the holding room. Bastard could have had me taken to Division or if it had to be CTU, he could have ordered me brought in through the back. No, he stood there watching me dragged through the front, making sure everyone saw me!_

_I hate Palmer! We spent hours locating the virus, hours more planning its safe acquisition. Michelle went home alone while I was forced to lie to her, inventing all kinds of reasons why I had to stay overtime. "You will face the consequences of your actions, Mr. Almeida, regardless of the outcome…" What an ungrateful bastard!_

Half an hour later the same guard walked down the passage in front of the holding cell. Once again Tony forced himself to ask for water politely, feeling his rage take hold of him as he was yet again ignored.

A long time elapsed without any movement in the passage. Tony lay on the floor on his stomach, face turned towards the door, taking shallow breaths. His body ached. How dare they refuse him water? He really needed some now, he had asked as politely as he could. He would rest another hour or so, and then he'd grab that guard by the neck and teach him a lesson about ignoring prisoners' requests!

Footsteps sounded down the passage. Tony tried to move, but his aching body refused to obey his brain. The best he could do was crawl closer to the door. Once again the guard patrolled the passage. His hand remained empty. Tony pushed his arm through the bars, getting a reaction from the man. 'I need water.' He wanted to say he'd asked for it before, but he was too weary to waste words.

'Convict, draw your arm through the bars now!' He stared at Tony the way someone would contemplate an insect before treading it into the floor. Tony left his hand where it was, removing it only when he saw the guard reaching for his night stick.

'That's better, convict. Stick any part of your body through the bars again, you'll be sent back for another beating.' He moved on, his measured strides almost leading Tony to believe he hadn't stopped at all.

_Doesn't seem like I'll get any water from that bastard_.

He closed his eyes, deciding to sleep, hoping it would pass the time before they would bring him a drink. Slowly he searched through his memories, finding a picture of his mother bending over him, lifting him off the ground. He'd fallen out of a tree they hadn't expected him to be able to climb, and he had hurt his head. His parents had rushed him to hospital, where they had been forced to wait several hours before he was examined. 'Just hang in there, honey, it won't be much longer,' his mother had told him, stroking his arm. Tony concentrated on the scene so totally he felt her hands soothing him. "Hang in there, honey." He fell asleep on the cold tiles.

A plastic cup of water lay on the slot when he awoke. He pushed himself up slowly, wincing. His hands reached the cup and he swallowed each drop, leaving time for his stomach to accept it all. An overwhelming desire to cry took him. He was locked in a cage, he ached everywhere, the photo he had struggled so long to keep was gone, and he was denied access to anyone who even remotely cared about him. 'Focus, Almeida! You've been in bad situations before. You'll get through this too, a minute at a time.'

_It seems I've got to. Those bastards have taken my spring._

He wandered why they removed his spring. They insulted him daily; a couple of them had expressed surprise he wasn't hanged, so why did they remove his way out? Had he been left alone in his cell he would have been dead by now, sparing them all any further sight of him. Now he would have to think of a different way to end it all, and he was sure they would keep him under extra surveillance. He would be stuck in prison a little longer.

_Just a little longer, Almeida. You're tough, you can do it. You'll find another way. You've got PLENTY of time to think of something._

_You've got the rest of your life to think of something… NO. I'll think of something in a few days. Maybe Sanchez can recommend something, he seems to know exactly what's happening._

He replaced his cup in the slot and lay back on his stomach, forcing back his tears. There was no real problem, he would endure another few days. And he was not alone, not really. His parents would think of him everyday. If they could see him now they would raise hell.

Tony thought about them all night, recalling all the happiest occasions in his life. He was in too much pain to sleep long. By the following morning he felt stronger, though stiff and sore. He settled in the corner furthest from the door and gazed at a spot on the floor, waiting for the guard. Presently six guards appeared and he was handcuffed and led along the corridor to a bathroom.

'You've got two minutes, convict. Make it fast,' warned a guard.

That was the worst part of the holding cell, he reflected the next day. Worse than the utter boredom, the total silence and the discomfort was his two minute bathroom breaks three times a day. Once he begged to be taken out in the afternoon, feeling his rage rise yet again as the guard told him he'd be taken in the evening, he would have to wait until then. He'd slammed his fist into the ground and sworn in English.

'Convict, any more comments from you, the supervisor will come and deal with you,' warned the guard.

He'd fallen silent.

_God, if I'd have tried anything like that with the terrorists we questioned at CTU I'd have been fired! But then of course they're terrorists, a lot of them foreign nationals, they had their rights! I'm a traitor, I got none!_

_They needed to be alive and hopefully healthy so we could extract information. No one needs anything from me._

On the fifth day the supervisor walked down the passage accompanied by the guards. He paused a safe distance outside his cage. 'Convict Almeida, on your feet. Face the door! You will rise _every time_ you are addressed.' He waited till Tony stood in the middle of the cage. 'I have a second contraband item of yours, convict.' He held out Michelle's photo. 'The warden specifically forbade you any personal items for a period of one year. You've been sentenced to a further period in the holding cell, another ten days to be served immediately your present sentence has concluded. This photo is going to the bin, convict,' he taunted, watching Tony carefully.

'All items confiscated from prisoners are to be returned to their immediate family,' Tony said, softly. 'It's Californian State Law,' he continued, watching the supervisor.

The supervisor's face flushed. 'You seem to know a lot about the law, convict – but then I forget, you were a cop or something. It's always interesting when they fail; they find it so much harder to settle than the crooks! No, you big-mouthed scum, we don't bother returning anything. It goes to the bin.' He smiled at Tony. 'Got any more comments, convict?'

'You're not allowed to insult me,' Tony said softly. 'That picture goes home to my parents.'

'Listen up, you bastard! I've had enough of your kind. If it were up to me all you bandits would be on the first bus back to Mexico or wherever the hell you came from.'

'I'm AMERICAN, dammit! And you'll soon see that. I'm going to file a complaint against your use of excessive force. And I'll file another for being insulted. Californian Law says prison employees "shall never refer to inmates by derogatory or slang references, nor shall they use indecent, abusive language." You've done both!'

The guards stiffened, watching the supervisor. For a while he stared at Tony in silence, before beginning to laugh. 'Convict Almeida, you do entertain me. You're lucky you're so amusing; otherwise I'd beat the crap out of you again. File your complaints, do. I've got a real large bin, there's still a little space inside.' He turned and left Tony, followed by the guards, laughing all the way down the passage. 'He'll file a complaint!'

Tony closed his eyes, fighting down his rage. The insults he received together with the supervisor's holding Michelle's photo were almost more than he could take.

_You're not into paperwork, are you? Well, neither am I. You ever come anywhere near me without a regiment of guards, I'll take you apart, piece by piece, and stuff you into your real large bin!_

He wandered fleetingly what would become of his photo. Most likely it would be stuffed into the box all the rest of his possessions had been squashed into, to be handed over to some relative after his death.

_Easy, Almeida. You've got another fifteen days in this cage. You don't want a second beating. Sit down and be quiet, and they'll pass. You'll get to go back to your cell._

He gave a half laugh half sob.


	11. Chapter Eleven: The Plan

Tony held his head high, ignoring the few questions yelled at him as his guards led him back towards his cell. He ignored them too as much as possible, following them without glancing at them. He paused and faced the wall before they could order him to do so, and entered his cell the minute it was opened. He moved to the back and faced the wall, waiting till his handcuffs were removed. Once they left he turned around, surveying the scene. He had a new mattress on the bed, a foam one, so that ruled out any further digging for springs! How uncomfortable it would be could only be imagined. The rest of his cell remained the same since his extraction. Two books lay on top of each other on his chair, and his letters lay next to them. Instinctively he went to check the pile, hoping to find a few new ones. He was disappointed.

'Hey, fed,' called a voice he recognized as Sanchez's, 'are you still alive? Where were you? The holding cell is for ten days only!'

Tony found himself grinning. No one had spoken to him for the last fifteen days. He moved over to the bars and gazed across the floor. 'Tell that to the supervisor! He liked my company so much he decided to keep me extra long!'

'We missed you, amigo! You can tell us about it tomorrow in the yard.'

'Si,' he agreed, wandering back to his bed. He picked up the old letters and read them again, whispering the endearments aloud. 'Dear Tony, sweetie, honey, pet!' He shook his head. They had begun to sound strange to his ears.

He moved over to his sink, washing his hands and face, cupping his hands to drink a little, before attempting to wash. The water was ice cold and he had no towel, but he reveled in feeling clean after three weeks. Now if only he would get a change of clothes soon! He wiped himself in the bottom of the blanket. A puddle of water surrounded the sink, but at least he felt fresh. He washed his underwear and hung it carefully on the back of the chair, hoping it would dry the next morning. Clean laundry was handed out on Tuesday, and he had missed it by a day. Doubtless the next guard walking past would yell at him, but it was done now.

At lights out he lay on his foam mattress, delighted it was clean. It felt almost luxurious compared to the floor. He pulled his blanket over himself, feeling truly warm for the first time in twenty days. Tonight he would be able to sleep all night long without waking up cold. It was good to be back!

_Watch it, Almeida! You'll feel at home before you know it! _

He closed his eyes, daydreaming of home, picturing the table on the verandah full of food, with the family settling down. It wasn't helping him to accept his confinement, but he allowed himself to dream just before he fell asleep, and immediately after waking if he woke before the siren. It gave him something to look forward to. As he was unable to release his energy during the day he usually spent hours in bed dreaming every night before falling asleep.

That night he got so comfortable he only daydreamed a few minutes before he fell asleep, dreaming of home. They were watching TV, he was playing his guitar upstairs, and then people came and put cuffs on him and dragged him out. He yelled, hanging onto the door, and Michelle came and tried to pull him backwards, but the strangers were too strong for them, and his grip on the door weakened. He awoke shaking, covered in sweat.

The outside light shone into his dim cell, showing him the sink, toilet, chair and books. Their shadows were criss-crossed with dozens of straight lines, covering his entire floor. 'Bloody bars' he muttered, attempting to swallow the lump in his throat. At least they only threw small shadows during the day when his own light was on. At night they were revealed in all their grimness. He couldn't take it for much longer. "Hang in there, Tony. We love you." "We'll see you real soon, honey." The shadows blurred.

The siren woke him in the morning. He sat up exhausted, resenting having missed his few minutes quiet daydream before the day began. He crawled out of bed, not wishing to miss his yard time, feeling his clothes. They were almost as wet as last night. He laid them on the floor behind the bed, out of direct view of any passing guard and pulled his clothes on without them. His comb lay in the small box he had found in this cell. He tidied his hair and washed his face, picking up one of the two books. What had they given him this week?

He groaned aloud. Little Women. At least he hadn't read it yet! After glancing through the first page he decided to see the other book. He could read this one later. The second book was a text book titled The Extraction Of Pollen – The Miracle Of The Honey Bee. Idly he glanced through the pages, finding black and white pictures in the middle. He rubbed a hand across his eyes, trying to wake up. Perhaps he would read Little Women first after all! It was a classic – he knew his sisters had a copy at home. They would be interested to hear that he had read it too! He did have to write _something_ in his next letter, and he sure as hell wasn't going to mention the previous three weeks.

Breakfast came as he was finishing the second chapter. He laid the book back on the chair, on top of the textbook, and returned to the bed. Once his tray arrived he carried it over to the bed, eating his toast and porridge, drinking his lukewarm tea. When had he last drunk a hot cup of tea? Two days before his arrest, sometime in the evening with Michelle. He'd made a cup for both of them, and they had watched a thriller.

He forced himself to stop remembering the past. This was the daytime, he reserved nights only for that purpose, knowing that otherwise he would lose his grip on reality. Swallowing the last of the tea he carried the tray back to the slot. There were still a couple of hours before yard time. He picked up the book again and read another chapter. They were eating. The author was inconsiderate enough to describe the table and the food. Tony shut the book in disgust. It was time for his exercises, anyway!

Kneeling on the cold vinyl, he worked through fifty push-ups, noting the slight ache in his muscles. He had been unable to exercise at all for two weeks following his beating, and had begun his routine slowly, trying five the first day. He determined to reach his customary hundred by the end of the week. Tony gave himself a ten minute break noting his rapidly beating heart, dismayed at his poor condition. He spent it on the bed, leaning back against the wall. He forced twenty sit-ups from his exhausted body before beginning some stretching exercises. There was no need to hurry, he could take all the time he needed.

_I never got this far at home! The phone would always ring, or I'd be looking for some document that needed to go to the office that day. Well Almeida, you got what you wished for, remember? You told Michelle that you'd love to live in a place without phones! Of course you didn't mean it seriously, but you did say so anyway._

Once again he picked up the book, noting Sanchez across the floor was reading a book too. Idly he wandered what it could be about. He appeared to be absorbed in it anyway. With a sigh he picked up his own book. He would skip the tea party and read further. What could Martins the bank robber, his neighbor be reading? Was it worth a certain black eye trying to swap books? He decided it was.

'Hey Martins, are you up?'

'Sure, what do want, Almeida?' Martins appeared just as bored as he was, doubtless longing to join his smoking friends in the yard. Tony longed to go outdoors too, having spent five weeks inside.

'You wanna swap books?' Tony inquired, leaning his face against the bars closest to Martins' cell.

There was a pause. 'Sure, why the hell not. I read this yesterday. Put your hand out.' Tony stuck his hand out rapidly and pulled a thin flat book inside. Life In The Yurt – Following The Nomadic Mongols. Well, he would love to travel somewhere different; this book would be just the thing he needed. He laid it on the chair and took a quick look to make certain no guards were about. He passed Little Women over to Martins.

'What the hell,' he heard from his neighbor, in an outraged tone. 'Are you nuts? Gimme back my book now, Almeida, or I'll wring your neck!'

Tony almost grinned. 'Ok, I will. Just let me have it for today.'

'Just for today, you bastard! I was reading that again. What's your other book about?'

'Honey bees, but it won't pass through the bars, it's too thick.'

'Forget it.'

Tony had finished the first chapter on the best way of constructing a yurt when the siren wailed. Eagerly he laid the book down and went to wait for his door to open, joining the queue with the others.

'I'd punch you out if you hadn't just returned from the holding cell,' Martins hissed. Tony apologized again, knowing Martins would do nothing to risk yard time, just as he wouldn't either. There were people waiting to talk to him for the first time since his imprisonment, and he had something he needed to ask them too.

'Amigo,' Sanchez exclaimed, as he walked through the steel doors, blinking in the light. 'Come over here, let's see you.' Tony followed him to the space normally occupied by the Latin gang. They welcomed him as warmly as though they had known each other all their lives. 'So tell us, what happened after they took you away. They beat you up, right?' He nodded. 'The bastards. Did you have your photo with you? They searched the cell again, but they found nothing.'

'Si, it was on me. They found it there.' He stared at the floor, struggling to keep his emotions out of his face. They sensed his anguish for they gave him a minute. 'Bastard supervisor took it; he said he'd throw it in his bin! He can't do that, right?'

'Amigo, he can do whatever he wants. Did he give you extra time for it?'

Tony nodded, bitterly. 'Si, another ten days!'

'Then he had to fill out some reason on the form. So amigo, he would have to have produced the photo as evidence, in which case it's in your box of stuff now.'

Tony tried to tell himself it was ok then, but his heart ached. They stared at him in sympathy. 'Amigo, try hard to behave yourself today, so you get to come out tomorrow too. I'll have it back for you,' Sanchez said. 'A guard owes me a favor. I caught him stealing, and I didn't squeal.'

A half smile crept across his face, a faint reflection of his infectious grins – the best he could manage these days. 'You real sure?'

'Si, I'm sure. Am I the kind of person to promise something and not deliver it? You ask the others! Am I?'

They all shook their heads, insisting Sanchez was the best car thief in the city, never failing to drive up in the car he'd promised to get. Tony nodded, unsure what comment to make.

'They found something else too,' he said softly. The gang fell silent immediately, sensing something.

'You don't _have_ anything else, fed,' one of them reminded him. The rest of the gang hushed him indignantly. 'Let him speak. What did they get amigo?'

Tony sighed heavily and explained about the spring he had pulled from his mattress, sharpening it for days against the wall. They listened in silence, avoiding his eyes. 'I need something like that again, and I can't make it from anything in my cell anymore. If you could get me something, I'd write and tell my mom to pay your family.' He gazed at them all.

'Amigo, is that what they taught you in the army?' the leader of the gang asked him. 'That you just give up and die if life goes bad? Or did they teach you that when you became a fed? Suicide in case of capture!' They all frowned at him.

'Look, guys, I can't stay here like this. The whole world is out there, and I'm stuck in here. I don't even get to watch it passing. I got nothing to lose, anyway. What more can they sentence me to?' The last sentence was addressed straight to the leader.

'You'd get a year in the SHU, to start with. There's no books there, and you only get to go outside for half an hour every second day if you're lucky. You don't get to wander round the yard either; you march up and down in a narrow straight pen. You don't get any mail; you don't get to speak to anyone. It kills, I know.'

'Look, I don't even know what the hell SHU stands for, and I don't care,' Tony began. 'No, they didn't teach me to give up in the army whilst any hope remained, but there's none left for me.'

_When I see the guards up in the towers I'm tempted to march straight up to the wall and start climbing. I'm just scared the bastards would miss and only cripple me._

'There's always another option, amigo,' Sanchez said slowly. 'You've been trained real well, I saw you hide that photo with six guards and Davis in front of you, and they didn't find it. Top marks. With that kind of training behind you, fed, why not try fence parole instead?'

They stared at each other in silence.

'If they catch you, you get your wish. They'll kill you. If you get out, well, you can live again.' They all stared at Tony.

_Escape! God, if I only had a chance of pulling it off! _

_To live, to walk outside again. To go swimming. To see mom and Papa._

He stopped himself firmly. He would never see them again, if he did get out that way. But, he would be able to live, and yes, he would find a way of contacting his parents, letting them know he was ok. He took several deep breaths, giddy with excitement. His eyes sparkled.

'He's considering it,' one of the gang said softly.

'Think about it, amigo. Don't be in a hurry to die. Plan it well.'

Tony gazed round the yard, raising his eyes upwards along the wall. Beyond it lay another wall, even higher, with barbed wire on the top. It was too smooth to climb; he would need a rope or something. It was lit more brilliantly than the statue of liberty at night, and equally exposed during the day, but beyond lay freedom. His heart leapt.

'Don't even think of going over the walls, amigo, it can't be done,' the gang leader said. 'You'll have to take out a few guards and walk out.'

Tony had reached the same conclusion himself. Could he take out six guards?

_Could Lieutenant Almeida have taken out six armed hostiles? No way! Sure he could! He would certainly have tried, anyway, were he being held somewhere!_

'The guards don't take me anywhere alone except when I'm in trouble,' he stated. 'Then they cuff my hands behind my back. There's no way I could disarm even two without my hands.'

They all began talking at once, enabling him to see a mirror reflection of what they must have been like outside years before. 'You must open the cuffs, amigo! They will not be as vigilant if they think you're cuffed. Then …'

'Then what?' Tony asked. 'Even uncuffed its six armed men against one. Where would I run? I can't open the steel doors without an access card.'

'Then you need to get hold of the card,' stated Sanchez. 'Once you're uncuffed, you grab a gun and get them to give you a card.'

Tony frowned thoughtfully. A plan was beginning to formulate in his brain. 'I'd have to take them out in an area without camera surveillance. Maybe it would be best between the steel doors. I could lock them inside, take someone's clothes and gun, and just leave.'

'Amigo, now you're talking! That would give you about five minutes, ten if you're lucky. You'll need to steal a car. Wait a minute! You're only a fed; you'd better get a guard's car keys. You'd never be able to start it in time!'

'Good idea,' Tony agreed. He thought over the plan in detail. 'How would I unlock the cuffs?'

'With the wire I'll get you tomorrow,' the leader of the gang told him. 'Tell me you know how to pick locks, fed?' He gave Tony a doubtful look.

'Sure I can,' he replied, confidently. 'I won't be able to pick it though whilst I'm on the move with two guards behind me. I must get them to stop me, yell at me, threaten me against a wall for a moment.'

His heart beat faster. He might just be able to pull it off! He could easily delay them for a minute, and uncuff himself. That would be the simple part. He felt better than at any time since his arrival. He would leave!

'Fed, you'll only get one shot at this. I'd wait a few days till you are a little stronger,' the gang leader advised. 'You've got to be hurting from your beating.'

_He's right. Even if I get outside, I won't be able to survive without being 100 fit. I'll be totally alone there. Can't just go to a shop and buy food_.

Tony nodded. 'Si. I'll need another week. I'll be okay by then.'

'Aguas!' warned a junior member of the gang and they fell silent as a guard walked past. He stopped in front of them, challenging them. They all stared back at him in silence.

'What are you banditos discussing, ah? Nothing legal, I'll bet! You want to get more of your scruffy relatives into the States, huh,' he concluded, addressing his last remark to entire group. Tony felt his fists clench. Sanchez laid a restraining hand on his arm. He remained silent.

'Listen fed, you got to learn to relax,' the leader told him. 'You need another week to heal. Ignore everything else.'

_Focus Almeida, focus!_

He nodded. 'Yeah. For a week.'


	12. Chapter Twelve: Tony's Private Files

It would be much simpler with a pencil and paper, Tony thought, as he lay on his bed in the afternoon. His brain was struggling with keeping all the passages and exits in place. He had spent the entire time since his return to the cell planning his escape. Emotions he hadn't felt for the last five months raged through him – not anger or depression or hopelessness, but excitement! He was alive again, planning to rejoin the world outside. The thought of the beach didn't pain him as he gazed at his blue clothes. He would be seeing it again for himself soon. He would remove his shoes and trousers, hell; he'd remove all these filthy clothes, and just walk in. After he had a refreshing swim he would allow the waves to roll him onto the sand and he would lie on the warm dark rocks and get dry. And then he would go back for another swim…

_Focus Almeida. You're not out yet. If you can't concentrate you won't get out at all. You've got lots more planning to do. Look at you, you've lost track of all the cameras now! You'll just have to start again._

Dinner arrived. Tony got up from his bed and settled the tray carefully on the bed. What did they bring him? Mashed potatoes with gravy and some poor quality beef - well, it was a lot better than what he'd eaten in the holding cell. And before he ate it, he could use the potatoes for something else. He picked up his spoon and pushed the potatoes into two squares, representing the blocks, leaving empty space on his plate for the courtyards. Next he pushed the pieces of beef into position as the cameras he would have to elude, and finally he used the gravy to show the various checkpoints on the way to the main gate. He frowned in concentration. There wasn't enough beef on the plate to show every camera, he would have to move them between blocks.

Deeply absorbed in his task, he only heard the trolley's return at the last minute. Rapidly he scraped the food into the small box next to his comb and handed back the plate. The guards wheeling it glared at him as they were forced to slow for a second.

He ate his meal with his fingers, licking the last pieces off them, and washed out the box.

_You almost got caught, Almeida! They would've been REAL pissed off to see you playing with your food. _

He resolved to be more careful in the future. He would not get into trouble this week; he would rest and regain his strength. Tony grabbed the book of bees and laid it on his bed, pretending to read it. Now where was he? Yes, the timing. He would have to leave the prison during the normal shift change so as not to arouse suspicion. When did the guards change shifts? How long did they linger inside after being relieved? Were they required to debrief? He resolved to question Sanchez the next day. The more he knew the greater was his chance of success. That night he could barely fall asleep in his excitement.

The next morning passed in the same excitement as he ran through his plans yet again. He could hardly wait until yard time to run his ideas by the gang.

The siren wailed, and everyone stepped outside. Tony stared in annoyance at his own door, wandering why it remained shut. He had done nothing to deserve losing his yard time. He shook the door, noting it remained firmly locked. Nervously he watched the other prisoners leave the block, wandering what would happen to him now. The guards never failed to inform him if he lost his yard time, and no one had so far expressed displease with him. He paced his cell, growing increasingly concerned.

Six guards entered the block, heading for his cell. He pressed his face to the bars, watching their approach. The usual guards were all out in the yard supervising the prisoners. These were unfamiliar to him. He swallowed.

'Prisoner, face the wall. Place your hands behind your back.' Tony did as he was ordered and heard his door open. Two guards pulled his wrists tightly together cuffing them. They grabbed his arms, spinning him around. They formed a shield around him as they led him across the floor. He was halted outside the shower. His cuffs were removed. 'Get your clothes off, convict.' Tony stared amazed. Shower time was only once a week on Monday night if you were lucky. Regularly several weeks could pass without a trip there. Being taken to the shower during yard time by unfamiliar guards was unheard off. He removed his grimy clothes, wandering whether he would be beaten.

The guards watched him carefully positioned round the shower block. They allowed him to shower in peace. He rubbed the normal cheap soap that refused to lather all over his body and stood under the cold water for a full minute reveling in the clean feeling. A guard handed him a bottle of shampoo. Tony stared stunned. He hadn't seen shampoo at all since his arrest. Normally he rubbed his hair with soap. He scrubbed the dirt off it, watching for bubbles. His hair must have been really filthy for the shampoo washed straight out without bubbling. He squeezed more on his palm and rubbed it back on his hair. This time he was covered in bubbles. For a while he stood there, watching them run down his body, breathing in the scent. Once again he squeezed a little shampoo out and rubbed his hair. The whole thing turned white with bubbles. He was clean now!

'That will do, convict,' snapped a guard. Tony switched off the tap and rubbed himself dry. He was handed a clean set of clothes which he pulled on, unable to believe his fortune. 'Sit down, convict,' ordered a guard, pointing to a chair. He settled in it, watching as his hair was clipped reasonably neatly. Next his hands were cuffed to the chair and he was shaved.

_Someone's coming to see me. I've got to look neat and smell clean. Who could it be? Not the lawyer, he's got nothing further to say to me. Not mom or Papa, I'm not allowed to see them for another five months. There's no one else!_

Mystified, he followed the guards outside the block and across to the administration block. He climbed the stairs and was led into the same room as the lawyer had been in. Once again his legs were shackled to the chair. He sat on his plastic chair and waited. Judging by the previous visit, he had at least half an hour to wait.

This occasion proved different. Within minutes of his arrival the door was unlocked and two figures entered with a guard. Tony stiffened. He felt the hairs rise on his arm. He barely managed to pull his impassive mask on before the visitors pulled their chairs out. The guard left, locking them inside.

'So Almeida, we are forced to meet again. I've received a very dismal report about your behavior from the warden. You should be ashamed of yourself. He says there's less trouble with ten crooks than with you!'

_Well, I'm not ashamed! HE should be, keeping me in the hole days longer than the law permits!_

'Dammit Almeida, look at me! A repeat of your performance during your trial won't be tolerated. I've got some question to ask, and you will answer them clearly and immediately.'

_In your dreams, Hammond!_

Hammond gave a snort of irritation. 'Almeida, I'm here on a matter of national security. We've received Intel on a group you had monitored two years ago. It is essential I access your files. No one can locate them. Now where did you store inconclusive ongoing reports about Islamic militants? Just the general follow up reports.'

Tony fixed his gaze on a spot somewhere past Hammond and remained silent. Hammond slammed his fist on the table. Had he not noticed it out of the corner of his eye he would have jumped. As it was, he didn't move a muscle. 'Dammit, Almeida, I've got things to do besides sit here. I don't have all day!'

_I do! Hell, I've got all week. I've got years; I've got the rest of my life, thanks partly to you. We can wait together._

Hammond's face turned purple. 'I'll give you exactly one minute to start telling me what I want to know. You've already been convicted of treason; you don't really want anything else, do you?'

_Do I look like I'm worried about that? Hammond, I've got a LIFE sentence. You can't touch me anymore._

Hammond got up from the table, pushing back his chair with a loud thump. 'Your minute is up, Almeida. Show us where you stored those files immediately.' He opened a laptop and pushed it in front of Tony, who didn't as much as glance down at it.

'Almeida, I'll have you hung for refusal to cooperate in a matter of national security,' Hammond shouted. 'How would you like that?'

'Just fine,' Tony snapped back, close to the end of his patience.

Hammond gazed at him speechless. 'It can be arranged. Your parents can get a front row view. So can Michelle – no wait, she's on a course in Washington. Well, your parents can sit by themselves then. They'll get to see you led in, have a rope placed round your neck, and they'll get to watch you jerk around all blue. Judging by what emotional people they are, their performance should equal yours!' He pushed the laptop closer to Tony. 'Find the files now, Almeida!'

Tony's face had turned red, then white. His eyes flashed. Without thinking he picked up the laptop and shut it, banging it down on the table. 'Never mention my family again, Hammond,' he hissed.

The door opened, admitting four guards. They moved to push Tony back into his seat, cuffing his hands and restraining his chest against the chair. One raised his night stick and gave him a sound blow on his leg, repeated by a second as he failed to acknowledge it. The young man who accompanied Hammond looked startled.

'Stop that at once. The prisoner is restrained; you have no call to use violence.'

The guards looked at Hammond, who waved them out. 'Almeida, I'll call Richards to question you, if I have to.'

Tony returned his gaze to the wall, once more wearing his unreadable expression.

The young man spoke again. 'Mr. Hammond, sir, I wander if I could question Mr. Almeida.' Hammond shrugged.

'Mr. Almeida, I've been checking through your files. I'm real impressed with your organization. You had that much extra data on everything you've even impressed Ms. Driscoll, and she's not usually impressed with anything. Now this group is 'waking up.'

You've got a family in LA, I'm sure you want to keep them safe.'

'I'm listening,' Tony said in a milder tone.

'He has NO RIGHT to classified information, Hibbins,' snapped Hammond.

'Sir, he's not going to get any. I wiped the laptop clean, just like you ordered. Mr. Almeida,' he turned back to Tony, 'we need your help to find those files today. I'm sure you'd like something reasonable too. Think about it.'

'I want to go home,' Tony said, focusing on the IT guy. 'Wait a moment, you took my home. I'll be reasonable. I'll tell you whatever you want to know if you just release me.'

Hammond snorted again. 'That's enough, Hibbins. I'll call Richards.'

'If you call Richards you'll have to find the files for yourself, Hammond,' Tony said.

They gazed at each other, measuring each other's determination. 'What the hell happened to you, Almeida? You were a good agent.'

Tony unconsciously made a movement to stand up, feeling the restrains against his chest. He nodded his head vigorously. 'Yeah, I was a good agent. I'm a convicted traitor now, right?'

_Why the hell should I care about another group of militants? They're not going to come in here and hurt me! You guys sent me down; you don't need my help anymore. _

'Even convicted traitors have someone they care about,' Hibbins said quietly. 'Why don't you tell us for their sake, Mr. Almeida?'

Tony lowered his eyes to the desk, feeling a bitter pain in his chest. Hammond would get what he came for sooner or later; it was pointless waiting for Richards. A session with Richards would delay his escape by another week at least. He swallowed, forcing some of the bitterness inside. 'I want to see my parents,' he said, lifting his head and looking at Hibbins. 'I want the one hour visit I've been denied.'

'It would save us a lot of trouble, Mr. Hammond,' Hibbins said. 'Let him have his visit, what harm can it do?'

'I can't interfere with a punishment the warden has handed down,' Hammond stated.

'Then I can't remember where I placed those files,' Tony replied, seeing the momentary concern on both men's faces.

'Alright Almeida, you'll get your visit. Now where the hell did you put those files?'

'I need that in writing, with the warden's signature,' Tony said firmly. 'I need the visit tomorrow!'

Hammond nodded and knocked on the door, leaving the room. Tony lowered his gaze, attempting to calm himself. He took several deep breaths. Hibbins watched him sympathetically. The restraints humiliated him as he stared back at the young man.

'They say "hi"' Hibbins said finally. 'Some of the people at CTU.'

'Yeah,' Tony said. He wished he could bury his head in his hands. The one person he wanted to talk to above all others was miles away. His heart ached.

The door opened again. Hammond laid a paper in front of him. 'You get one visit, Almeida. If you behave decently you'll get your normal monthly visits in five months. Now where are the files?'

Tony chewed his lips. 'I'll need to see the laptop to find them,' he said, gazing at it. Hammond clucked in irritation and nodded at the IT man, who opened the screen. It remained black. He shook his head at Hammond.

'Almeida, you deserve to be here! That was MY laptop. I'm sorry for the warden!' He waved a hand at Hibbins, who opened his own bag and produced another laptop. It was the same model as the other laptop. Hibbins flipped it over and opened the cover for a hard drive. He replaced the drive from the broken laptop and reattached the cover. It was then placed in front of Tony and powered up. Tony was forced to tell him how to access the files as he was unable to touch it. He watched the files opening with a strange longing. This was his section; he had collected the information for himself, working on his own leads. Finally it was being used, proving all the hours he'd worked on them were not in vain. Somehow he had known those groups would turn dangerous.

_Now someone else will get to investigate! Don't worry about it, Almeida. You'll get a visit tomorrow!_

'What made you collect all this information?' Hammond asked curiously as the files were located and opened.

Tony gazed at the screen, remembering having written up the reports, making his own list of possible extremists. 'I didn't trust these guys. Something seemed wrong.' He fell silent. How could he explain to Hammond what he'd felt watching the Towers collapse. 'In the army they taught that if something feels wrong, it usually is. You got to stay focused.'

'Well it's a good job anyway,' Hammond said. 'A word of advice, Almeida. Stop rocking the boat. It won't get you anywhere. You committed treason and you're in prison for it. Accept that! You put yourself here. Causing disturbances won't get you released early. Nothing will ever get you released.' He stood up to go, followed by Hibbins.

Tony gazed at him, unable to keep silent. 'Mr. Hammond, my files are real detailed, the groups I monitored overlap. If you'd tell me what you're looking for I could help you.' He found himself hoping he would be asked to help, even if only here, shackled to the desk for an afternoon.

'No way, Almeida. You can't expect Division to work with a convicted traitor, can you? We'll take it from here.' Hammond knocked on the door.

'Mr. Hammond, these are my private files, I never expected anyone other than myself to use them. They're not sorted perfectly. If you're suspicious about a group, I can find all their contacts quickly. You don't need to tell me about your intel, just name the group and I'll find you everything I got much sooner than the best IT guy could.'

Hammond shook his head firmly, stepping outside the unlocked door. 'You still fail to understand the gravity of your crime, Almeida. You're a traitor; I'm not allowed to work with you. You're a disgrace to the nation.' He left without a backward glance at Tony.

'Goodbye, Mr. Almeida,' the young IT man said, following Hammond out.

Tony felt strangely drained after their visit. He had been threatened and had received two blows, but that was an almost everyday occurrence. It was the sight of the laptop with all his files that bothered him. His Intel was useful after all! At the time he had collected it he hadn't known whether he would need any of it. Only Michelle even knew of the existence of those files. Had she told Hammond about them? And why would she tell him about the files anyway? What were those groups planning? He felt cut-off from life.

_Someone else will read my files and take the case. Tony Almeida will be returned to his cell and will get to have an exciting day sitting on his bed, or sitting in the corner_.

_What the hell. At least I'm clean_.

Presently the guards returned and unshackled him, leading him back to the block. The other prisoners were still in the yard. Tony knew better than to ask to be taken outside to join them. He was uncuffed and left alone.

He lay on his bed, thinking of his parents. He would see them the next day, after four and a half months. It was going to be a difficult visit for all of them. They would see him in prison uniform, pushed around by guards, handcuffed and shackled. He would see them watching him, trying to pretend they hadn't noticed those chains. Hammond had called them "emotional people." That was hardly fair, given the circumstances. Which parent would sit calmly watching their child led into a courtroom shackled hand and foot, and be handed a life sentence? His parents had been silent, only attempting to bid him farewell as he was led away.

_Tomorrow they'll see Convict Almeida! They've seen everything else so far – baby Tony, nursery school Tony, cute little elementary school Tony, tiresome nuisance Tony, high school Tony, university student, Private Almeida, Lieutenant Almeida and Special Agent Almeida. Tomorrow will hurt them real bad!_

It would hurt him too.

_Thanks to all my faithful reviewers, some new ones might be nice._


	13. Chapter Thirteen: Tony's Parents' Visit

He slept little that night, too riled up by Hammond's visit and the memory of his previous life. His brain searched through the files, trying to guess which ones would be examined. Which of the several groups he had been monitoring had 'woken up?' What threat did they pose? Would his family be in any danger if they managed to achieve their plans? He hated not knowing.

The morning dragged by. Tony was unable to concentrate on either book, or plan his escape. He paced his cell, feeling trapped. He would have an hour with his parents, half an hour with each one, as he was not permitted more than one visitor at a time. There were some things he needed to tell them without the guards' knowledge. He searched his brain to remember conversations he'd held with them or films they'd watched so he could tell them his plans without anyone listening in learning about them. Time slowed. His cell remained locked.

Unintentionally he placed his hands behind his back as he paced back and forth, three steps from the door to the back wall, and three steps back. Deep in thought he bumped into the bars, stopping to rub his knee. Damn the place. How could he move? He rested his head between two bars gazing round the floor, lifting his head to see the catwalks above him surrounded by the net.

_If I could just pull these bars out I'd get out of here immediately!_

His fingers gripped a bar and he pulled hard, sighing in frustration. The cold solid steel refused to budge. When were they coming to take him to see his parents? He really needed to know so he could focus on his day.

_Focus, Almeida. Are you going to tell each parent the same thing, or are you going to have something special for them? Mom will be upset; I'll have to cheer her up somehow. What can I possibly say?_

'Convict Almeida, move to the back of your cell and place your hands on your head,' ordered a guard, annoyed at seeing him so close to the door. Tony moved to obey instantly, trying and failing to calm himself. He heard his door open and several footsteps entered. His hands were pulled back one at a time and cuffed. Once again he wandered why they didn't allow him to put them behind his back himself, why did they always have to touch him.

_God I hate the feeling of their hands on my arms!_

'Turn round slowly, convict.' He turned to face the four guards in his cell, his eyes searching and finding the two directly outside the door. All six were here, that was good. He was really being taken somewhere. One of them unlocked his door while two guards gripped his arms, holding him in place. Davis entered a smirk on his face. Tony closed his eyes for a second.

_What the hell is he doing here now? I haven't seen him since he took me to the Administrative Segregation block and had me beaten. Easy, Almeida. Don't let him bait you – you'll lose your visit. Ignore him. Papa and mom will be here already, waiting. You've got to stay calm!_

He forced the disgust off his face and gazed straight ahead. He would remain silent if it killed him!

'Convict Almeida, you're being granted a visit. You'll have exactly one hour with your family. You are forbidden to mention the names of any employees of the prison, warden or guards. You are forbidden to mention the name of any inmate of this prison. You are forbidden to mention the timetable in this prison. You are forbidden to discuss any topics related to your punishments in this prison. You are forbidden to converse in any language other than English. You are forbidden to inquire about any event outside your immediate family's life. Failure to adhere to these rules will result in the termination of your visit. Do you understand all these rules?'

'Yes sir,' Tony replied through gritted teeth.

Davis searched his face, finding only his impenetrable mask. 'Alright. You've been warned.' He grabbed Tony roughly. 'Just to make sure you don't get any ideas so close to the entrance, Almeida,' he said, showing Tony the restraints he carried.

Bile rose in his throat. When had he last seen such a restraint? On Nina, when she was brought into CTU, and on Marie Warner. It was totally unnecessary on him inside a federal prison. Its only purpose was to humiliate him further and distress his parents. He chewed his lip, forcing himself to remain calm.

_Keep it together, Almeida. You can deal with him later!_

He narrowed his eyes and forced himself to look through the bars as his feet were shackled and a belt was placed round his waist. A chain was connected to the space between his cuffs linking to his belt. His hands were uncuffed when they were finished and cuffed in front of him, being attached to a chain that led to the belt.

_Easy Almeida. YOU WILL KEEP SILENT!_

Davis nodded once all the locks were closed. 'Alright, take him to admin.'

Tony walked to the administration block surrounded by the customary six guards, forced to take small steps. His heart beat rapidly with excitement. He would see his parents again. He would be able to talk to them. He hadn't really spoken to them since the picnic three days before his arrest.

He was led through the administration block's lower floor and halted outside a door. 'Convict, you've got exactly an hour to speak to your visitor. Your conversation will be monitored. Any infractions will result in the immediate termination of your visit.'

'Yes sir,' he replied, bursting with impatience for the door to open. He guessed his parents would be waiting for him behind the glass barrier, about to be subjected to the full view of their son led in so heavily restrained. He took a deep breath.

The door was opened and he was led to a table. His eyes peered through the glass, resting on his mother. He chewed his lip, furious she had been the one chosen to witness his entry. She looked horrified, hiding her feelings rapidly. She would cry later, he knew, and not just once.

He smiled at her as a guard pushed his shoulder down forcing him to sit at a chair. His feet were shacked to the table's legs, the chain linking his handcuffs to the belt was removed and the guard waved at the phone. 'You may pick up the phone now, convict.'

Tony's hands shook as he reached for the phone, nodding his head towards his mother's phone to tell her to pick it up on her end. He watched her take the phone and place it to her ear.

'Mommy.' He stopped, embarrassed. He hadn't called her that since he was a toddler, it had just slipped out. Her eyes filled with tears which she blinked away.

'Hey mom,' he began again. 'It's ok, I'm fine. Look at me.' She raised her eyes to meet his, and he grinned at her. 'I missed you. How are you?'

She was struggling, he could tell. 'We're okay, sweetheart. We just really miss you.' She stopped, unable to continue.

Tony nodded. 'How's everyone else?' This was proving harder than he had thought. She assured him everyone was fine and asked him about himself. What happened to his leg, why had he limped in? He sighed, wandering how she had noticed his limp through the shackles. 'It's ok, really,' he said.

'No, Tony, will you quit saying that! It's NOT ok. You're hurt. You're very thin. Your eyes don't sparkle anymore. You've been sick, I can tell. I want to know exactly what happened to you!'

He sighed heavily, indicating the guard in the booth with his eyes. 'I had pneumonia two months ago, but I'm better now. This cut,' he indicated his arm, 'will be ok, it's healing everyday. There was a fight.' He paused, listening to hear any third person on the line and failing. The guard must be monitoring someone else. 'I won, you should see the others.'

_That won't cheer her up, Tony!_

'There were two fights,' he continued softly, knowing his mother would only worry more without details. 'I started both of them, that's why you guys aren't allowed to visit. It's okay now, the problem is solved.' He looked at her reassuringly, hoping to convince her. She looked uncertain. 'Mom, you know I can take care of myself,' he continued. 'Please don't worry about me. Tell me about what you've been doing instead. Have you guys been down to the beach lately?' He heard a third breath on the line, indicating the booth. His mother nodded, she understood.

'Yes, we have.'

'I really miss going there. Tell me what it was like.'

Her eyes filled with tears again which she angrily wiped away. 'It was real windy. The sand blew everywhere. The water was grey and filled with whitecaps. We didn't stay long.'

'Did Sandy dig a hole?' he asked, quietly. 'She loves to dig for treasure.'

His mother looked confused. 'She didn't come with us.'

He nodded. 'Remember I used to go to my own beach sometimes. I even kept a little food there.' He leaned forward, touching the glass, noticing her eyes more alert. 'Lots of cans of lemonade, in case I got thirsty, even some beer. They stayed quite cool in the cave. It was real nice to drink it there. On a real windy day you could sit there and watch the waves break over some rocks about a mile out to sea. I nearly got thrown on them once. You can see the rocks from the road. You should check it out; the view is incredible, sometime next week.'

_Mom, you can find my hidden beach easily in this weather. Watch for the white water a mile out to sea, park there and work your way down. I've got a box of "treasure" buried there under the cans of coke. If I haven't taken it by next week, please give it to Michelle._

_There's 10 000 dollars there._

His mother looked at him questioningly. Tony rubbed the side of his face with his hands, wishing they would have removed the cuffs. It was distracting his mother, and he needed her to focus now. 'How's the house? Is it real tidy now it's only you and Papa there?'

His mother looked confused again. 'Sure sweetheart. It's too quiet though.'

'You never know when you'll get visitors, so it's real important to keep it tidy. You can't know when visitors will show up. You'll probably get someone this week.'

His mother glanced straight at him.

'Do you remember when we kids played in the shed?' he continued. His mother's face turned grey.

_I can see you remember, mom. Marco locked me inside in the summer and I nearly got sick. I had to get out, and you couldn't hear me calling, so I had to break the window and climb out._

'Tony,' she said. He smiled at her gently.

'I love you very much.' He pulled his sleeve a little higher, showing the entire scar on his arm. 'Did you keep that ugly postcard?' he asked, willing her to understand which one he meant.

'The one from…'

'Yeah, that one' he interrupted rapidly.

A guard appeared beside her. 'Goodbye mom, I really love you,' he said. 'Don't worry about me, I'm fine.'

'God protect you, Tony.' She managed to return his smile.

He waited impatiently for his father to be led inside. Tony watched him entering the room and sitting down, smiling at him. His father smiled back, face composed, eyes dull with anguish. Tony was forced to swallow, horrified by the depth of the pain concealed there. His father was taking his imprisonment even harder than his mother.

'Hi Papa.'

His father's hands shook as he held the phone. 'Tony, how are you? God I missed you.' His voice broke; he fell silent, blinking rapidly.

'Papa, its ok now. Look at me,' Tony told him.

His father swallowed. 'Tony, you got yourself into such a mess I just can't help you. We're trying real hard, we've written to the president to beg for clemency but no one from his office has answered us. We're praying for you.'

_I know, I can tell. You two will never, ever stop loving me._

Tony straightened on the chair, glad suddenly it wasn't his father who had watched him being led in. 'Papa, I really miss you too,' he said. 'Thanks for writing all the time, I read your letters and try and imagine everything…' His voice shook, he steadied it firmly. 'Have you seen Michelle?'

'No, we haven't. Tony, look at me.' He had glanced down, not wanting his father to see the hope in his eyes when he'd asked the question. Slowly he made himself look up. 'She's been through hell too. She needs a little time to sort things out and seeing us would probably remind her of you. She'll come round when she's ready. We call her sometimes to check she's ok. She needs to work through this on her own, you should understand that.'

'Yeah,' he agreed, bitterly. 'I don't have much choice, do I? I can't go home and wait for her.' He bit his lip, ashamed. His father needed to be comforted, and here he was, whining.

His father shook his head slowly. 'Tony, she has a lot to think through. Sometimes people need a little space to do that.'

'Yeah, I know. I just miss her so much; I was hoping you could tell me about her. What about you guys? Do you still have any friends?'

'We've got plenty, don't worry about that. They really helped us to get through the last couple of months.'

'I'm real sorry I let you guys down,' Tony said quietly. 'I just couldn't watch them carve Michelle apart. I really love her.'

His father stirred. 'Tony, we never thought you let us down! We raised you to protect your sisters; we knew you would treat your wife the same way. Do you think I could have abandoned your mother?' He shook his head. 'No, I couldn't have.'

_I know that. You guys have always been a real team. Dammit, that's what I wanted too, for Michelle and me to be as happy as you are…_

'Tony, I wanted to tell you something. I'm real proud of you. I always was, as I watched you growing. I'm sorry if I was a little strict at times. I lie awake and wander why I sent you to your room so often, why did I tell you off. I really wish I hadn't.'

Tony shook his head, fighting back his tears. 'No, Papa, you mustn't think that way. You were great.'

His father fell silent, watching him carefully. 'What did they do to you, Tony?' he asked finally. 'Did they beat you?'

Tony glanced at the guard in the booth; sure he could hear something on the line. 'Do you remember what happened when I took your gun? It was like that, multiplied a few thousand times. Papa, listen. In case I can't…' his voice trailed off. He started again firmly. 'I wanted you to know, so it would be okay with you.' He drew a finger carefully across his wrist.

His father shook his head. 'Please don't, Tony. Promise to wait a little longer. Jack came by; he said he keeps calling the president on your behalf. Jack won't let him forget about you. Wait a bit more. I can't imagine what you're going through, but try to hang in there a little longer.' He looked directly at Tony. 'I can't lose you.'

_Don't ask me to promise something I might not be able to keep, Papa. _

They gazed at each other through the glass. 'Antonio, you're my first child. When you were born you were so tiny, we just kept looking at you, admiring you. When you cried we both ran, hell, I was jealous of your mother for feeding you. You didn't want to sleep in your cot, so we put you in our bed and you slept there all night, but we stayed awake, afraid of squashing you.' His father stopped, unable to continue.

Tony rubbed his own eyes. 'Ok Papa,' he said quietly. 'I won't' he pointed to his wrist. Aware of his father's eyes on him he moved two fingers carefully across his palm.

_I'm running away!_

'Take care, Tony.' He knew his father had received the message. He talked about his hidden beach to his father for a while, telling him next week would be an excellent time to watch waves from there. He hoped his parents' would figure out what he couldn't tell them.

'Five minutes,' said a voice interrupting their conversation. Tony swallowed, struggling to retain his calm expression. Only five more minutes with his father, before he would be returned to the loneliness of his cell. There were dozens of things he still wanted to say. His father struggled with his emotions across the glass barrier.

'Tony, your lawyer is filing an appeal for me to have inherited the Mexican block,' he began. Tony nodded, attempting to speak. His father held up a hand. 'Listen, I want you to know, that land is yours. Papa left it to you because you were his favorite grandchild. If ever they let you out, I'll return it right away.'

Tony nodded, placing a hand on the glass. 'Papa, I want you to have it.' Their eyes met. His father placed his hand opposite Tony's. 'Bye, Tony. I'll come see you as soon as I can if….' They nodded at each other. 'Otherwise….'

_Otherwise you'll keep checking the mail for something from a weird relative you never knew you had, knowing I will contact you._

'God go with you, Tony!' His father rose as a guard appeared beside him. A guard approached Tony, unshackling his leg. He waited while they secured his cuffs to the chain they again fastened round his waist, watching his father, who remained rooted to the spot beside his chair.

'Move, convict.' Tony lifted his head and gave his father a final smile before his guard turned him round by his arm. He walked to the door as well as he could in the chains. He turned for a second just before the door, seeing his father still standing watching him. 'Goodbye, Papa,' he said, before the door opened and he was pushed through it.

Tony spent the rest of the day by himself in his corner, head buried in his hands, picturing his parents returning home, entering their house, holding each other close, trying to comfort each other. They would cry together. He wandered where his own tears had disappeared.


	14. Chapter Fourteen: The Yard

Sanchez turned him away from the guards at the gate and stood directly in front of him, shielding him from the guards in the tower. He pushed something small into Tony's hand. 'I got them for you yesterday, amigo. Your photo and the wire.'

Tony nodded, placing them carefully into his pocket. 'Thanks,' he said, too drained to say more.

'The first visit kills,' the gang leader told him. 'You want to walk round alone, fed? We'll watch your back.'

Tony stared at him gratefully. 'Si,' he said, leaning against the wall by himself while they took a few steps away from him. The sun shone on his face, warm but not hot. He closed his eyes, resting. He had spent the night daydreaming of his return home, knowing perfectly well it would never occur in real life. He had settled into his old bedroom, vowing to stay home with them the rest of his life.

'Federal Agent Almeida, I've come to say goodbye,' a voice told him. Tony glanced up seeing Summers, noting he had come alone.

'What?' he asked.

Summers actually smiled! 'This place is not for me, Almeida! Its for real scum like them,' he waved his hand at the group of car thieves. 'People like you. My lawyer won my appeal. I've had my sentence reduced a little.' He leaned closer to Tony. 'I've got three years left, in a medium security place, not such an uncomfortable building as this one. I'll get to enjoy my own TV, and have visits every week. I'll miss you, but I won't forget about you. What do you think of my good fortune, Almeida?'

Tony shook his head in disgust. 'Shit always floats to the surface, Summers,' he said, against his better judgment.

Summers shrugged. 'I wouldn't know. I'll be paying a visit to a real gorgeous lady in a couple of years, Almeida. Hell, it could be sooner with good behavior.'

Before Tony could formulate a reply he was surrounded by the gang of thieves. 'Get lost, Summers,' their leader said, grabbing Tony firmly by the arm. 'Go light a fire!' He held onto Tony until Summers disappeared into the crowd. 'Amigo, stop straining. You're pulling my arm from its socket. Relax.'

Tony shook his hand off his arm angrily. 'Let me go, Rodriguez! What the hell do you mean telling him "go light a fire?". You ever smelt burning flesh? You ever smelt a hundred burned corpses? You ever saw people running with their skin burning behind them? You haven't so shut the hell up.' He walked away from them, head down, mulling over Summers' words.

_How the hell could anyone consider Summers ok to return to society? The man's not nuts, like his lawyer said, he's sane. He's just evil, real evil. There's a difference! He's gonna do it again. He's gonna light fires until it finally becomes clear to some dim witted judge that he's never gonna reform!_

_He gets to go, while I get to waste the rest of my life here. How fair is that?_

He wandered through the dusty yard, attempting to work off his anger. The basketball accidentally hit him on the shoulder. He slammed it into the ground with full force, watching it bounce up. He watched it land again, ashamed. Slowly he picked it up, throwing it through the ring.

Rodriguez was chatting with the rest of the group when he returned. Tony sighed and walked up to them. 'Sorry I yelled at you.' Rodriguez shrugged. 'Thanks for holding onto me; I would've beaten the crap out of him.'

'Which he would've deserved, amigo, but not from you. Not today,' Rodriguez said. 'You got to stay calm, or you'll never get out of here.'

"Focus Almeida". Tony closed his eyes, remembering Sergeant Jenkins scolding him. It had been the first week on the rifle range, and he had already proved astonishingly accurate. He had knelt on the ground, finger on the trigger, awaiting the order to fire, when he had been distracted by a whole flock of birds circling a distant tree. His target had popped up, lingered a moment and then disappeared and he had only fired at the last instant, missing it. "Almeida, life is full of distractions. You got to focus on your own tasks. Now let's try that again."

He nodded his head. 'I know.' He glanced at the blue sky picturing himself on his beach. He would take any insult this week, he would deal with it. He was leaving! Slowly he leaned back against the wall, running his eyes round the yard. Crowds of prisoners wandered around dressed in the uniform he had grown to hate, some aimlessly, some talking animatedly. His eyes rested on the guards patrolling the yard, ever on the look out for trouble. It was a wander they hadn't interrupted his conversation with Summers. He studied them carefully searching for any weakness. They would most likely be among the group he would escape from. Tall and well built, aggressive and brutalized by their work conditions, he couldn't find a hint of weakness in any of them. Ah well, he would have to hope they would follow their protocol to the letter when he made his attempt. His eyes rested on a skeleton of a prisoner approaching a guard, asking something, and the guard angrily waving him away. The man stumbled over to the wall and sank down.

'What's with him?' Tony asked, nodding his head towards him.

'Ah, he's back from the SHU. He's not so well, he keeps asking for his medicine, but they're not feeling too generous today. There's not enough to go round, amigo. Some get treated, others don't.'

'He looks pretty bad to me,' Tony said, frowning. 'Shouldn't the doctor get to see him?'

'Amigo, they only take you to the doctor if you're bleeding, or unconscious. He doesn't qualify!'

Tony shook his head, sickened yet again by the reality he encountered daily. 'It's not right!' he argued. 'Guards aren't qualified to make that kind of call. They're paid to watch us, that's all. Since when do they get to decide…?'

'Amigo, forget about it. It's not your problem,' Sanchez told him. 'Turn the other way and don't look at him if it bothers you. He's a dead man anyway, he's got cancer.'

Tony pressed his eyes shut, remembering visiting his sister for two years while she underwent cancer treatment. Never in his life until now had he been to such a depressing place as the cancer hospital. 'He could be treated. It works sometimes, you know.'

Once again they laughed at him, but without excluding him from among themselves. 'Amigo, who's gonna waste money on a con? If you get sick here, you die. Might as well walk in front of a bullet, it's quicker that way. They'll probably give him some morphine at the end.' Rodriguez took his arm firmly. 'Don't even think of following that guard, Almeida! Davis made the call, not him.'

_GOD I HATE THIS PLACE! I HATE IT. I HATE IT. I don't even know who's worse, the prisoners or the guards! _

One of the group returned with a ball. 'Let's play football, amigo,' Rodriguez said, giving him a meaningful look. 'You get to choose your position today. You could use some exercise!' They moved to a relatively empty corner of the yard and began to play. Tony forced himself to concentrate on the game. He really wasn't terribly good at football, but then nothing made any difference here except killing time, and the game certainly helped with that. Eventually the ball flew further out and an argument erupted over whether it was still in or not. Tony went to get the ball, listening exasperated to the continuing argument.

'Listen, guys. "It's in, it's out" who the hell cares! It's not a bloody football field, is it? Let's just play, ok!'

The group, who had seemed as though about to come to blows moments before stared at him amazed. 'Amigo, you got to learn to relax!' Sanchez said. 'Ok, it was out! Let's say its one nil.'

'Fine' Tony agreed. 'Whatever! Let's just play.' He kicked the ball into the middle of the group, watching it gliding through the sky.

_At that height it could fly right over the wall._

The returning ball slammed into his stomach, knocking him to the ground. He lay there dazed for a moment, attempting to get his breath back. Shakily he sat up. They surrounded him. 'Amigo, are you ok? Why weren't you watching the ball?'

'He's dreaming again!'

'I'm fine,' he answered shortly, standing up. 'It's still one nil.' Once again he kicked the ball back into the middle of the game. He kept an eye on the game and kept his other on the rest of the prisoners in the yard. Few of them paid him any attention. The group of smokers puffed away, the motorcyclists discussed bikes, their string of oaths floating over to him occasionally. They kicked the ball back and forth, running for it, bumping into each other, everyone of them certain to have been disqualified in an official match. Someone kicked the ball hard and it sailed past Tony, and flew into the middle of the smoking group. Dogface picked it up crossly, swearing. Tony rushed after it.

'You wanna give me the ball?'

'Maybe I don't,' Dogface replied. 'Seems like I wanna play football now, ape!'

'No you don't, you moron,' Tony told him, removing the ball from his hands forcefully, watching the guards from a corner of his eyes. They were a little too close for comfort. He threw the ball right over the basketball players and watched Sanchez kick it. The guards continued towards them. One pair wandered over to them, stopping the game.

'Come here, you bandits!' Slowly they walked over to the guards, standing in a row. 'You too, Almeida. Are you deaf? When I say "bandits" that includes you as well!'

Tony gazed at him speechless with rage. Sanchez laid a warning hand on his arm.

'This game is taking up too much of the yard. You bandits can use that space next to the basketball court, and no more. Is that clear?' He glared at the entire group.

'Yes sir,' they answered, the guard checking to make certain they had all spoken. He frowned at Tony.

'I didn't hear you, Convict Almeida!'

Tony lifted his head, pressing his lips tightly together. 'Yeah,' he answered.

'I'm watching you, Convict. You better learn to come when you're called real soon.' He turned and joined his partner.

Tony picked up the ball. 'Right, let's play!' He aimed, and kicked it as hard as he could, watching it rising in an arc and landing on top of the guard who had insulted him, knocking him on the head. Sanchez gasped, someone else closed his eyes. Both guards turned back to them. 'Sorry,' he said, attempting to look apologetic. 'You wanna throw it back!' He felt Sanchez's hand in his pocket, removing both the wire and the photo seconds before the guards stood in front of him.

'Hands behind your back, Almeida!'

'Why, it was an accident?' he protested, placing his hands behind his back. The cuffs were tightened round his wrists and he was given a push towards the door.

'Right,' the guard agreed, pushing him all the way back. 'And I've just lost the key to these cuffs! Face the wall.'

_Why aren't you taking me back to my cell? Hang on Almeida, they will leave you outside for the rest of this yard time facing the wall because there are too few of them to find six to take you back inside. They are not allowed to take you anywhere with less guards. There's NO WAY you'll get a chance of being taken somewhere with only four guards – so prepare yourself for escaping from six!_

He received two blows on his shoulders with a night stick and was warned against moving. He gritted his teeth, feeling the sting in his shoulders but not anywhere near as acutely as he would have five months ago. The guard moved away, chatting to the rest of the guards, almost certainly keeping an eye on him for the slightest movement. Tony examined the brick directly in front of him in detail. It was grimy, each miniscule crack covered in a thin cobweb, holding the broken brick dust together. He blinked, clearing his eyes. It hurt staring at something an inch from his face – he shifted his gaze downwards instead.

His shoes were in a remarkably poor condition, grimy and splitting apart at the heel. They really wouldn't last much longer, certainly not if he had to run or cross rough terrain. Any attempt at running in them would give him blisters even before it would fall apart. He would need to get a new pair somehow.

Would the guards tell Davis about this incident? He found himself hoping they wouldn't, that keeping him cuffed for next few hours would satisfy them. Right now he really wasn't in the mood to tolerate being insulted by anyone else. His eyes grew tired of examining his shoes; he raised them again, noting how they struggled focusing on the brick. He closed them instead, enjoying the feel of the sun on his head and hands, regretting his outburst. If only he had ignored the insult like the rest of the group he would still be playing football with them, he would get to look up and see the sky.

_Serves you right, Almeida. They all warned you._

'Alright, over there. Right up by that wall. Make a movement, you'll feel my stick.'

Tony moved his eyes to the side to see who had been stood less than two feet from him. He groaned aloud. Of all the people he disliked here, Dogface had to be close to the top of the list. The guard moved away, and Dogface spoke without turning.

'Agent Almeida! That was real cool, the way you hit that guard. We all told him so too. Now he's REAL pissed off!'

_Oh dammit, Dogface. He won't let it go anymore for sure._ 'What the hell business was that of yours?' he asked, furiously.

Dogface moved his head slightly and actually grinned at him. 'Everything here is my business, see! And pissing off guards is cool. I might play a little football too when they let you out next. I could bang you on the head real hard, ape.'

Tony chewed his lip, feeling himself getting annoyed yet again. He ordered himself to relax, to stay focused, but he found it hard to take his own advice. He forced himself to breath in and out slowly.

'Too bad you didn't go listen when the guards called you bandits over,' Dogface continued in a low voice. 'You gotta go, when you're called.'

'They're not bandits, anymore than you are,' Tony hissed.

'They look it to me! The "Bad and the Ugly", all together. 'You're "the Bad" and they're "the Ugly"- all of them.'

'What?' Tony managed to say softly enough to remain unheard by the guards.

'Didn't you see the movie? Any of you could be the bad or ugly. That's coz you're all bad _and_ ugly, see!'

'If anyone could act a part in that movie, it's you,' Tony said, enraged. He turned his head to face Dogface, forgetting all about the guards. 'Do you see anyone else with half as many tattoos? You think they look good? Your outward appearance describes you perfectly; a low life cut throat a few dozen IQ points below normal!'

Dogface roared with laughter, unable to comprehend the final part of the argument. 'You sound like my TV,' he said, pleased. 'Hell, it was shit boring before you came, ape!'

'Call me that again, you'll get to drink from the toilet,' Tony snapped, taking a step towards him.

Dogface shook his head sadly, as two guards grabbed Tony's arms and slammed his face into the wall.

'Face the wall, convict. This is the second time I've had to speak to you. You've lost your yard time for the entire week! One more sound from you – you're going to see the block supervisor.' Giving Tony a final shake, the guard left him. Tony noticed a thin trail of blood running down his face and dripping onto his shirt. Unable to use his hands, he was forced to watch it, hating the sticky feeling on his cheek.

_I'll be silent, I'll be silent. I won't do anything to get these bastards to take me to Davis._

The siren wailed half an hour later. Everyone lined up and began moving through the steel doors, row by row. 'You going to go back to your cell, amigo?' Sanchez asked. He nodded.

'Yeah, but I get to wear these bracelets a while longer.'

'Amigo, you're real cool. Don't move.' He felt something slipped back inside his pocket. 'I don't think I'll be seeing you outside for a while.'

Tony shook his head regretfully. 'Not for a week, the guard said. Sanchez,' he said, as the man turned to join his row. 'Wait. I never said thanks for all your help.' They gazed at each other.

'Good luck, amigo,' Sanchez said finally. Tony nodded.

He was ordered to move when everyone else had been led inside, being marched along to his cell and inside still wearing his cuffs. 'You behave real well the rest of this day I might look for the key,' the guard told him, glaring at him.

Tony settled on his bed with a sigh. It would be another long day, he could tell. He was severely limited with his hands behind his back. The simplest tasks proved challenging. He turned the tap on standing backwards, then attempted to kneel close to it to wash a little of the mess from his face. Lunch and dinner were a nightmare, with him forced to eat at the slot, taking care not to knock the whole tray to the ground. First he tried taking pieces with his fingers but found it impossible to put them anywhere near his mouth. He was forced to lean into his plate and eat like an animal, red with humiliation.

His cuffs were removed just before lights out.


	15. Chapter Fifteen: The Kite

Face pressed into the bars, Tony checked the catwalks, making certain no guards patrolled nearby. They were too far to be seen, their footsteps lost in the colossal din of echoing curses. He turned; resting his back against the bars, pulling his head as far back as it would go. 'Rogriguez,' he called, hoping to attract the gang leader's attention. Once again he cursed the bars as they prevented him from moving back the extra couple of inches he would have required to peer up a level and along two cells to see Rodriguez. Not surprisingly Rodriguez failed to hear him in the racket. 'Rodriguez,' he called louder, receiving no answer.

'Dammit Almeida, you've been in prison long enough to have learned no one can hear you like that! You're just getting on my nerves,' snapped Martins, his irritable neighbor. 'Why don't you shoot him a kite?'

Tony turned to face Martins, glad of an idea though seeking clarification. 'What's that?' he asked. An image of a kite came to him, flying over a field, which he dismissed immediately as useless. This 'kite' had to be entirely different.

Martins groaned aloud. 'What do you imagine it is? Not a bloody colorful dragon! It's got a string though, you write your message and tie it on and throw it. Now give me some peace for Chrissake!'

'I haven't got any string,' Tony said, aware Martins would curse him and lend him some if he persisted long enough. 'Could I borrow a piece? I'd give it back.'

Martins groaned aloud. 'Anyone would think a man sentenced to prison has the right to a little peace and quiet to contemplate his past deeds! Alright, Almeida, I'll lend you a piece of string, but I'll expect it back shortly – all of it.' A small ball of string was pushed into his cell. 'Tell me you got a pen?' the robber asked.

Tony rubbed his face, having wandered when he should broach the subject of lacking a pen. 'No, I haven't. They haven't allowed me any shopping privileges yet.'

'It's hardly surprising, with your attitude,' Martins told him, pushing a blue biro through the bars. 'Now I don't want to hear anymore from you till you're returning my property, ok?'

'Sure,' Tony agreed. 'Thanks, Martins.'

He settled at his table, using a scrap of paper he removed from an old notebook Martins had given him. Frowning in concentration he wrote a simple question about the possibility of getting another pair of shoes and struggled with attaching the paper to the string. Whichever way he tried it kept falling off – he ended up piercing the note and attaching the string to it. He walked back to the bars at the front, searching the catwalks, noticing two guards patrolling nearby. Sighing in frustration he returned to his bed, waiting till they walked past before heading back to the bars.

_This would be so much easier if I had the second floor and just had to throw this thing down. Better throw it to the right cell, Almeida._

Wrapping an end round his wrist he pushed his hand through the bars and threw the other end up and across, watching it fly directly towards Rodriguez's cell. It landed on the catwalk directly outside the bars. Tony swallowed, calling his name as loudly as he could, breathing easier once he saw a hand reach out and retrieve the note. He waited patiently for his reply, gazing about the block. Sanchez appeared to be sleeping, lying immobile on his bed, face turned towards the wall. A burning note fell into the middle of the floor, consuming the paper rapidly and smoking.

'Who the hell is responsible for that?' yelled a guard, gazing up at the second tier. 'I see one more of this, there's no yard time tomorrow for the entire row!'

_God I'm SO sick of hearing about the loss of yard time!_

A note sailed expertly between his bars, landing near his feet. Tony picked it up eagerly, reading Rodriguez's answer. Apparently there was little chance of getting new shoes unless Davis himself authorized it, and he doubted whether Tony would even want to try asking. He was right, Tony thought, he had no intention of ever speaking to Davis again. There was a further line scribbled near the bottom of the paper, so tiny as to be virtually illegible. Tony strained his eyes to make out a few words in Spanish, something about getting shoes from the same place as another necessary item.

_Of course! I'll take them from the guard with the most similar size. I'm not sure how suitable they'll be for covering rough terrain, but I can always 'find' another pair outside!_

He wrote 'Gracias' on the final scrap of paper from the same book and tied it to the string, aiming carefully. It sailed upwards, blown off course by a sudden gust of wind as the main door was opened. Tony watched in dismay as it tangled in the catwalk, attempting to pull the string backwards. 'Oh shit,' he breathed, pulling a little harder.

Martins appeared to hear him, moving to the front of the cell. 'What simple task did you manage to complicate unnecessarily this time, Almeida?' he questioned, biting his lip when he saw the note stuck in the middle of the second row catwalk. 'How the devil could you manage that?' he gasped, reaching out to tug at the string. It remained intertwined in the thin gaps in the metal. Martins swore and handed Tony a small pair of blunt nail cutting scissors. 'Cut it loose, Almeida, or you'll get lugged.'

Tony reached out as far as he could, cutting the string and praying that Rodriguez could reach out for the note. He had no desire to find out what 'getting lugged' consisted of, he had a pretty good idea already. A few inches of string dangled off the catwalk, noticeable from a mile away! He watched with bated breath as Rodriguez reached for the note and found he needed a good inch to retrieve it. 'Maldito sea!' Well, he was about to find out the precise definition of the verb 'to lug' he thought grimly, noticing two guards approaching.

'What the hell's that?' one asked, pulling the string. 'It's a note. Shit, some convicts are daft!' Tony's cheeks burned as he listened, forced to agree. 'Pull it down, let's read it.'

He watched as they read the single word. 'It says "gracias". Some Spic wrote that. Rodriguez!'

'It's mine,' Tony said suddenly, knowing Rodriguez had served several months in a place known as the SHU and hated being pulled up for anything since.

The guards moved to his cell, gazing at him in annoyance. 'What the hell do you mean by hanging notes from the ceiling? Do you think it's a joke?' one demanded. 'Stand your gate, convict, when you are spoken to!'

Tony moved to the front of the cell placing his hands behind his back. 'It's no joke sir, it's a decoration,' he said seriously. 'A white butterfly. The place looked a little bleak, all grey.' A ripple of laughter could be heard from the surrounding cells. 'It just flew in and got stuck,' Tony continued without batting an eyelid, 'but you freed it, that's why it said "gracias".' The sniggering intensified, a couple of prisoners banged on their bars. The guards gazed at him less than amused, one of them crumbling the paper in his hand. 'Now you killed the poor thing,' Tony concluded, shaking his head.

'Convict Almeida, I'm filling out a Rules Violation Report on you. You'll hear what disciplinary action Mr. Davis will take by this evening,' one of them told him.

Tony chewed his lip, hoping Davis wouldn't come to his cell personally. 'Yes sir,' he said.

_Well, you're real familiar with their Rules Violation Report – form 115. You got one filled out two days ago for throwing the ball and lost yard time for a week. Wander what they'll think of next?_

'Fed,' called Rodriguez, and Tony craned his neck to see his outline against the bars. 'Gracias. Not many would own up to something.'

'It was mine,' he said simply, and returned to his corner. Carefully he tore Rodriguez's note into tiny pieces, flushing it down the toilet. Making certain there were no guards present he handed Martins the remainder of the ball of string together with his pen and scissors. 'Sorry, Martins,' he apologized.

Martins shook his head, taking his things quickly. 'You're lucky they didn't lug you, Almeida. They still might, you know.'

'Yeah,' he sighed, taking his pile of letters and settling in the corner. He glanced through them, having read each of them so many times he knew them word for word. After a little thought he picked his brother Bobby's latest letter.

_Dear Tony._

_How are you? I'm fine; we're in the Gulf right now. You should see the water; it's this dark blue on sunny days, which is always. Mom says I shouldn't write about the water or the beach to you as it would upset you, but I know you like to hear about it. We had quite a storm yesterday, there was white water in every direction and we done a 40 degree roll! You would've loved it._

_We're being deployed home in two months. I'll come and visit you as soon as I get back. Tony - hang in there. I've got SO much to tell you._

_Bobby_

'I miss you too, Bob,' he said softly to himself. He read the letter again, pausing to picture every sentence about the storm. The rest of his family skirted an entire range of topics including the weather, their outings, their parties (if they actually had any) and their holiday plans. Tony rested his head against the wall, wandering how long it would have taken them before they would have written about their real lives. He had already been in prison for five months. He pressed the entire pile of letters close to him, missing them. One visitor a month for an hour if he behaved well all month was unpalatable.

The afternoon dragged on. Tony tried hard to read his latest book, but found himself unable to concentrate. Something was wrong, he could sense it. Instincts heightened he paced his cell back and forth unable to find anything out of the ordinary. The usual cursing echoed through the block, the usual notes flew between cells; the usual clanging filled the air, punctuated by the frequent threats of the patrolling guards. It was an afternoon like every other afternoon in B block, yet something was wrong somewhere – somewhere outside the prison if not inside. Tony longed to pick up a phone and call his parents to make certain they were ok.

_I'd issue a warning to take cover now, were we on patrol in the army._

He threw himself down on his bed, rising seconds later to resume his pacing.

_God I need to get out of here!_

A note flew into his cell from Rodriguez, telling him to settle down and read something. Tony sighed, crumpling it in his hand. He really didn't want to read now; he wanted to go outside for a walk in the yard. Well no, he really wanted to go for a walk on the beach, of course, but he still had another few days of waiting and exercising before he would be strong enough to leave. He struggled through another hundred push-ups, pleased to note he needed less rest between them and that the ache from his beating had nearly faded. He would attempt his escape in another three or four days.

Two guards climbed down from their office and headed directly across the floor to Tony's cell just before dinner. He watched them coming, carrying the CDC Form 115 with them, recognizing it from across the block. Apprehensively he wandered what punishment Davis had written on it. At least only two guards came, which meant he would be left in his cell.

'Convict, stand your gate,' snapped an aggressive guard before he had a chance to move. He placed his arms behind his back and awaited his sentence. 'For a violation of prison discipline you are placed on reduced rations for the following three days. Is that understood, convict?'

'Yes sir,' Tony said. _Damn damn damn! I really needed all the food I could get now_.

He remained at the bars watching them carry the form upstairs back to the supervisor's office. Yet again he wandered at the point of bringing the form down to be read aloud when there was absolutely nothing a prisoner could do about it anyway. Surely it would be simpler to just notify the prisoner of his punishment. He concluded the sight of the form made things appear less arbitrary.

His dinner consisted of half a plate of mashed potatoes with a single sausage. He ate it as slowly as possible, placing miniscule portions in his mouth in an attempt to make it last longer and to fool his stomach into believing he had eaten a normal sized meal. Hungrily he lay down at lights out and closed his eyes, delighted to enter his self permitted period of daydreaming.

He pictured himself attaching his boat to his SUV and pulling it down to the marina, lowering it into the ocean and then parking his car. He jumped into his boat and pulled the cord, listening to the cough the engine always made to begin with, threatening to die before it gave a loud splutter and roared into life. He was heading out to sea today as the wind was calm and there were few waves. He fell asleep dreaming of his boat flying over the waves, feeling hot sun and cold spray on his skin. He awoke hours before the siren, not having tired himself out the previous day confined to his cell and continued his daydreaming where he had left off when he fell asleep, absorbing himself so deeply he remained unaware of the grim reality of his surroundings.

The siren's wail penetrated his dreams. Using all his self-discipline he climbed out of bed and dressed, refusing to allow himself any further images of his boat. Once he slipped he would go mad – and that was not going to happen! Tony combed his hair and washed his face, thinking about the day ahead. What day was it? A Thursday – well, that meant no shower or cleaning the cell. Did he have anything at all planned for the day? He searched his brain, desperate to find something, having initiated a system for himself the previous month where he set aside a task to be achieved for each consecutive day. Yes, of course there was something, today he would do 150 push-ups without pausing before breakfast and again in the afternoon. He washed his face and began his exercises, knowing he would be permitted yard time the following day. He would say farewell to the gang that had helped him. Tomorrow would be an important day.

He received half a bowl of lukewarm porridge without toast for breakfast which he forced himself to swallow slowly. After the bowl was removed he watched the guard with the bag of letters throw a few through the slots, delighted to receive one himself. Eagerly he carried it over to his familiar corner and pulled the letter out of the already opened envelope, smiling at the handwriting.

_Dear Uncle Tony_

_We went on a field trip to Death Valley with the class, and mommy volunteered to come as one of the helping parents. She managed to get Grandpa to come along too; she said he really needed to get out of the house for a bit coz he's real sad about you still. He helped set up some tents and stuff. Do you remember you came to help out with the camping trip last year? I sure wish you could come again…_

_I drew you a picture of our new puppy. We got him last month._

_Grandma says she'll bring me with her when she's allowed to visit you again so I can tell you all about the trip. Please be good so we can come soon. Uncle Tony, will you write me a letter, addressed to me? No one has before! I miss you so much, I wish you'd just come and take me to the beach or something._

_Sandy_

'I wish I could too, princess,' he said softly, removing a drawing of a black dog. He smiled, remembering he had an entire drawer filled with her artwork at home, at least he had had, he corrected himself. He had no home anymore, and he had no idea what happened to the furniture. Hopefully Michelle gave the pictures back to her. He had kept them all, from her earliest scribbles to all the pictures she had drawn while they waited to see her mother in hospital. Slowly he reread her letter, placing it on the table.

'Martins, are you there,' he asked, putting his face close to the bars, biting his tongue for asking such a foolish question. A loud smirk was his only answer. 'I'm sorry, I mean, do you have a moment?' he pressed.

'What do you want to talk me into lending you this time, Almeida?' Martins asked a trifle less irritably. 'Could it possibly be a pen and a piece of paper?'

'Yeah,' said Tony, holding out his hand. 'I'll repay you with paper, as soon as I'm allowed to buy some, you know that.'

'You'd better; you owe me an entire file full by now. Alright, here's two sheets and my biro. And there's your envelope.'

'Thanks Martins, I'll repay it all,' he promised, doubting whether he would be able to keep that one. If his escape succeeded he'd never see this dismal place again, and if it didn't, well, he wouldn't be returned to B block, that was certain.


	16. Chapter Sixteen: Preparations

They paused in front of his cell assuming their usual positions. A sick feeling began in his stomach as he rose from his corner, spreading upwards to his throat. Forcing his impassive look on his face he turned to face them, wandering where they intended to take him.

'Convict Almeida, you've been here long enough to know the drill without having to be told every time. Move to the back of your cell and face the wall. Place your hands behind your back.' The guard gave him a hard look and he moved to obey, having seen them entering unwilling prisoners' cells with tear gas. Facing the wall he listened for them opening his cell, knowing that four of them would enter and two wait outside, ready to lock his door if he showed the slightest sign of failure to cooperate. Once again his wrists were grabbed and cuffed.

_Now what? I've already been punished for the note. Surely they're not going to beat me up_.

'Where am I being taken?' he asked, not seriously expecting an answer. To his surprise he received one.

'You've got a visitor!'

'What?' he asked confused. He had been granted one visit with his parents due to his cooperation with Hammond's investigation, but the warden's imposed suspension on his normal visiting periods was nowhere near completion.

_Don't tell me it's Hammond again! Relax Almeida, deal with it. You're leaving in two days anyway_.

The guards shackled his feet and placed the belt on his waist, shackling that to his feet. Tony leaned against the wall fighting the urge to push them back. Another chain was attached to his belt and his hands were briefly removed from behind his back, being cuffed in front and attached to the chain. He bit back an angry comment as the guards tested all the chains. 'Alright, he's ready. Let's move, convict.'

He followed the two guards in front of him along the corridor aware of the four who watched his every step from behind. The steel door was opened, and they stepped into the space between them, waiting for the other door to open.

_Wait a minute, Almeida! They're really taking you to the visitors' area. This can't be any official person; you're not going to the interrogation area…Something's wrong! Warden Brownlow isn't exactly the type to feel sorry for you missing your family._

His heart hammered against his chest. He remembered his unease the previous afternoon, the desire to take cover. His hands moved instinctively to rub his face, prevented from reaching anywhere near it by the chain. Reaching the outer block reserved for visitors he was stopped at the same official's desk.

'Convict Almeida,' began the guard, 'you've been granted a fifteen minute visiting period on compassionate grounds. The usual rules pertaining to visits apply. If I hear anything whatsoever about a prison employee or the routine here, the visit will be terminated.'

'Yes sir,' Tony agreed longing and dreading to see who had come to visit him so unexpectedly.

_Easy Almeida. They said "compassionate grounds." You sure haven't seen anyone here demonstrate much of that! Something terrible has happened and someone's come to tell you about it. You already know, really. "Take cover, ON THE DOUBLE"_

He saw his father's figure in the chair opposite his as he was led in and shackled to the table. 'Please papa, turn round and look at me,' he begged, knowing his father couldn't possibly hear him through the glass. Trembling hands picked up the phone, and he waved a hand against the glass to attract his father's attention. He watched his father turn to face him, swallowing as he glimpsed his pain filled eyes. He pointed to his phone, watching his father pick his up.

'Papa, its Bobby, isn't it?' Tony asked without waiting for his father to greet him. 'What happened?'

His father nodded, swallowing several times before attempting to speak. 'There was an explosion at the harbor. The entire quay blew up and the ship was badly damaged.' He fell silent and Tony closed his eyes, dreading to hear the next part, though he already knew. The hopelessness and grief his father showed told him all he needed to know, he just lacked the precise details. His father pulled himself together with an effort and faced him. 'They done everything they could for him, Tony. He wasn't in any pain.' He repeated the final sentence as though attempting to convince himself.

_Oh shit, the hell he wasn't! Surviving an explosion and dying soon afterwards in anything other than excruciating agony is unheard of. I've seen it so many times before._

A wave of nausea took Tony and he leaned further against the chair. 'Did they take him to a hospital?' _How long was he in agony?_

His father shook his head. 'There were too many of them. They took them as fast as they could…'

_They took the savable ones. They left him to die on the broken quay!_

'They said they gave him some morphine while he waited.' His father brushed a hand across his eyes. 'Tony, you've spent years there. Do you really believe they did that?' His father gazed at him pleadingly.

'Yeah,' he muttered, forcing himself to meet his father's eyes. _I'm sorry papa; I lied to you for the first time today. How can I tell you the truth? Do you really imagine they had that much morphine to go round hundreds of injured people? Do you think they could get to all of them on a blown up quay?_

'He was coming home soon,' he heard himself say, biting his tongue. His father would be perfectly aware of that himself_. How could it happen now? He was coming to visit me! There was something he wanted to tell me._

Tony wiped his eyes with his hands, fighting back his tears. On the opposite side of the glass his father brushed his own tears away. 'Tony, he was so young. So very very young. He was going to get married during this leave; he wanted to tell you himself. There's a little one on the way.'

He squeezed his eyes shut, picturing Bobby on the basketball court grinning at him after he scored a point. It took all his self discipline to focus on his father. He had so little time left to try and say something to ease his pain. 'Papa, it happened real fast. He was real happy now.' Carefully he reached for the glass, placing his hands opposite his face. He longed to throw his arms round his father and promise him he'd be there, they would get through it together. Blinking back more tears he forced himself to ask a final question. 'Did you see Sam?'

'Yes, she's devastated.'

'She must have loved him, to stick by him when they convicted me,' Tony said softly.

His father glanced at him startled. 'Tony, Bobby never considered you a…' He trailed off, unable to say the word "traitor." 'None of us do, you know that. He took this real bad,' he waved a hand at the cuffs. 'God, what an awful year, you locked away in this dump, and Bobby gone.' He shook his head, unable to say more.

'Papa, listen to me,' Tony begged, hearing the guard's approach. 'Papa, they're coming, listen now.' His father glanced at him. 'You got to stay strong for mom and the others, ok?' The guard stopped beside him, pointing to the phone. 'Just give me a minute to say goodbye, please,' he begged, looking so desperate the guard actually nodded.

'One minute, convict.'

'Papa, I love you. Tell mom I love her too, that I think of you two all the time. I'll always think of all of you everyday. Bye Papa,' he gasped, choking back hot tears as his father rose.

'Bye Tony. We love you too; we don't stop praying for you. You don't deserve this,' his father said, hanging up as a guard took the phone from him. Tony watched him led out of the room, waving as his father turned. Once his father left the room he buried his head in his hands, wiping his eyes.

'Convict, it's time to go,' said the same guard. 'Get up.' Tony stood up slowly and watched while his chains were all reattached. Completely drained he followed them back to B block, through the doors and into his cell.

'Amigo, what's up?' yelled Sanchez from across the floor. Tony ignored him, unable to speak. He stumbled over to his bed the moment the chains were removed and lay there, picturing his favorite brother.

"Tony will you come and watch me play basketball? Come on, the next time you get leave I won't even be at school anymore." "Tony, could you do this page of sums for me? I didn't have time yesterday, and Mr. Benning will be real mad." "Tony, would you come play with me a bit? I'll be Batman, and you can be the bad guy." "Tony, I made it! I'm a lieutenant now! How cool is that?"

Hot tears blinded him, pouring unchecked down his cheeks.

_Bobby's never coming home again. He's never going to play basketball again, never going to tease the kids again, never even going to see his own kid. He just turned thirty and it's already over for him._

_Last time I saw him he was returning to his ship at the port, exchanging hugs with me and kissing Sam. "I'll see you next year, Tony. Behave!" We were both ok then, both free and alive and healthy. God, if only this year never happened!_

The rest of the prisoners went out to the yard, leaving him alone with his grief. Tony lay immobile on his bed, head buried in his hands. The same thought repeated itself dozens of times over – it should have been him. Bobby was young and had everything to live for; while his life was already so ruined he wouldn't have minded dying. The prisoners returned to their cells while he lay there so deep in misery he failed to hear their commotion. The trolley was wheeled past and his lunch was dumped on his slot. He remained on his bed, unable to find the heart to pick it up. A note sailed into his cell, landing beside the bed, lying on the floor in full view of any passing guard.

'Almeida, get up. Your friend will be in serious trouble if you don't hide that note, and you will be too, if you don't take the lunch,' snapped Martins' voice.

Slowly he pushed himself up, glancing at the note. Rodriguez wanted to know who visited him and what was wrong. Crumbling the note he flushed it down the toilet, taking his tray and sitting at the table. He picked through a little of his meal before flushing the rest away. Sick at heart, he dumped the tray into the slot with more force than necessary, hearing the sharp clang reverberate through his cell.

'Almeida, what happened?' Tony glanced dully into his neighbor's cell. Telling Martins to mind his damn business was on the tip of his tongue, but he remembered the amount of things the robber had leant him.

'My brother got killed on duty yesterday in Kuwait,' he managed to say.

Martins pressed his face closer to the bars. 'Not in the blast that damaged a destroyer?' he questioned. How in the world he knew about that was beyond Tony, but he was too depressed to think about it then.

'Yeah. Some local bastards forgot the help we gave them.' He chewed his lip so hard it bled.

Martins sighed heavily, strangely silent. 'Almeida, one of ours done that,' he admitted finally. He was born right here in LA, so no one suspected him. He was a Muslim, but didn't seem particularly religious before. He was an explosives expert, that's why the whole quay went up. Guess we trained him real well.'

A stray thought crept unbidden into his brain. "We've received Intel on a group you've been monitoring two years ago." "…they're waking up." "Where's your file of inconclusive, ongoing reports?" He leaned closer to the bars, trembling.

'Would you know the name of the guy who done it?' _He's on your list Almeida, he must be. You had all Muslims monitored who served in the armed forces_.

'Ahmed Aziz.'

Tony closed his eyes, forcing his brain to recall his entire list of thousands of names. Aziz, Aziz, he had heard the name before. 'He spent a year in college in Kuwait,' he exclaimed, remembering the report.

'How could you know that?' Martins asked. 'Oh, I forget, you were a Federal Agent.'

_Yeah I was one. Damn it, I would've picked something up! Hammond did too, that's why he came for my list – only Hammond failed to connect the data. He wouldn't tell me what he was specifically looking for, wouldn't let me help, and now a ship is badly damaged, over a hundred people are dead, dozens more critically injured, and Bobby's gone. I'll kill you if I ever see you again, Hammond! You should have told me what's going on! I COULD HAVE HELPED PREVENT THIS!_

'They're looking for him everywhere, but they got no leads.'

_So the bastard got away free!_

'Almeida, I'm real sorry,' Martins told him.

'Yeah,' he answered, fuming.

'You got to relax now, or you'll end up in trouble again, and you won't manage your escape.'

'What?' Tony exclaimed, startled. 'What the hell makes you think I want to do that?'

'I see the planning. I hear some whispers. Almeida, you're a good man, I hope you do make it out.'

Tony walked away, unwilling to expose himself, unable to trust anyone. He wandered how many other people heard a few whispers, deciding he had to go the next afternoon before it became common knowledge and someone would mention it to the guards. The last thing he needed was their increased vigilance. The afternoon passed slowly, Tony deep in contemplation of everything he recalled about Aziz. There was a group, he was certain – Aziz couldn't have achieved such an explosion alone. He longed to ask for the use of a computer but knew that part of his punishment consisted of being denied access to another one for the remainder of his life.

They were led outside to the shower that evening, carrying a clean set of clothes with them. Tony hung his clothes on a peg and pulled off his grimy ones, grabbing a towel. He threw the dirty ones into the large plastic basket in a corner of the bathroom and went to stand under a shower, next to Rodriguez, waiting for permission from the guards to turn the tap on. 'I'm sorry for not answering your note,' he apologized, watching the gang leader shake his head.

'It's ok, fed. You had some bad news today. Are you OK?'

Tony nodded; turning on the ice cold water the moment he noticed others do so. Once again the chill hit him, making him gasp for breath. Rapidly he pressed soap into his hand, rubbing himself all over, cursing its failure to lather. Rinsing it off under the icy water he allowed himself to relax slightly. He wouldn't be caught out without having washed the soap off himself a second time – he knew he was only permitted water for three minutes, less if the guards happened to be in sour moods.

'You still able to…'

'Yeah,' he answered, turning to allow water to reach his hair. He rubbed soap rapidly onto his head and stepped back under, scrubbing it out. His skin felt a lot cleaner, though he still hadn't managed to get over his dislike of the lingering scent of cheap soap. He walked back to his peg and rubbed himself dry, pulling on his pants.

'Amigo,' Rodriguez told him, coming up to him half dressed. 'You got yard time again tomorrow.' Chatting about having missed him, he pushed something into the startled Tony's hand. 'We'll see you out there, so we can talk.' He wandered away and Tony slid his hand into his pocket, feeling a crumpled piece of paper there. He pulled the rest of his clothes on and sat down on the bench to slip his feet into his shoes, wandering what note he had been given.

Back in his cell he pulled out a 20 dollar note, holding it in front of him in amazement. It was worth a fortune inside, able to bribe others with or buy some food or other necessary item. Swallowing hard he moved to the bars, craning his head upwards. 'Rodriguez,' he yelled, hearing an answer. 'Gracias.'

He bade them farewell the next morning in the yard, blinking in the bright sunshine. The weather was warmer than it had been since his arrest and several prisoners wore blue caps, seeking the meager shade of the buildings. They took it in turn to wish him luck, Rodriguez demanding he go over his plans one final time. 'Trust me, fed; I've seen many attempts at escape. Tell me yours and I'll find the flaws.'

'I have to leave sometime in the late afternoon, just before the shift change, so I can walk outside with the guards rather than hang around somewhere,' Tony began. They nodded, impressed with his reasoning. 'Its best then, coz it'll be getting dark soon. I'll be in my cell at the time; I got to do something bad to get them to take me to the warden. It's got to be something that'll really piss them off, coz I must get taken to the warden, rather than to A Seg, which would be the wrong way. Help me out, guys. I can't think what I can do that's so bad it'll get me sent to the warden rather than just get me beaten by Davis. Is it ok to just scribble my whole cell with a biro?'

'Not good enough!' exclaimed Sanchez. 'That'll only get you A seg and Davis. No, amigo, you need to do something that'll really deserve the hole, coz only the warden can sentence you to that.'

Tony shook his head slowly. 'I could play sick,' he suggested, wandering how they would react to the idea. 'They'll have to take me to medical, which is the same way.'

They all shook their heads together. 'No, fed, they wouldn't go for it,' Rodriguez told him. 'They've all seen you out in the yard. Remember, no one gets taken to the doctor unless he's bleeding or unconscious. They'll never believe you're unconscious, they'd leave you lying on the floor for hours and you'd miss the shift change, whilst if you cut yourself, it would have to be real bad before they'd bother to do anything about it. It's not the time to cut yourself, fed, before an escape, it could get infected outside. No, your first idea is better, do something to annoy them.'

'You need to create a hell of a disturbance,' said a younger thief cheerfully. 'Set fire to something.'

'That's it, amigo!' cried Sanchez eagerly. 'You'll set fire to your bed! That's a sure way of ending up in the SHU!'

A smile crept across Tony's face as he pictured his bed burning. 'I don't…'

'You need a lighter,' said Rodriguez, waving a hand at a couple of younger thieves who disappeared silently. 'Amigo, they'll come in full riot gear, no one's ever tried that here yet. Don't allow them in too soon; they need to get real pissed off! Keep them talking!'

Tony nodded. 'I can do that,' he said, never at a loss for a few wise comments. 'Thanks for everything, guys. We're gonna see a little disturbance this afternoon!'


	17. Chapter Seventeen: Disturbance

Tony set to work just after 5:00 in the afternoon, tearing a few pages out of his latest library book guiltily and placing them carefully in the center of his desk. Moving over to the bars he glanced outside, making certain no guard had heard the sound of the pages ripping. Satisfied that the din was enough to drown out anything, he ripped the rest of the pages from the book, laying them under his lighter. Taking a final glance through the bars, he pulled his blanket and top sheet on the ground, laying the papers on the bottom sheet. Holding one paper up he flicked the lighter, glad to notice a spark. The corner of the paper caught immediately, burning a small black square on the paper before dying.

'No, not like that,' Tony exclaimed in irritation, lighting the second corner. This time the paper took, aided by his gentle breathing on the tiny flame. He dropped it carefully onto the pile of paper, watching the fire spread to the next few pages rapidly. Tony pulled the sheet closer to the flames, willing it to catch fire. A strange smell filled his nose. Taking out the lighter he attempted to light the sheet, dismayed at it's slowness to catch fire from the paper. A small mist rose from the sheet directly below the burning pages, watched breathlessly by Tony. 'Come on, come on, that's right,' he muttered, watching the sheet begin to smoke.

Sanchez watched him directly across the floor, noticing he needed a little more time if his plan was to be pulled off successfully. He yelled something, throwing a note up two floors to one of the younger thieves, who screamed a few insults at the passing guards, slowing them down.

The sheet caught fire, burning in earnest. Carefully Tony pushed the flames against the foam mattress, wishing he had a little oil to give the fire a better start. 'Come on, catch fire,' he prayed, watching the slow progress in despair. He was never going to make it, and this little damage would be dealt with by Davis. 'Come ON, dammit.' The guards left the thief and continued their progress along the top catwalk opposite his cell, Tony praying they wouldn't look down on him. Excruciatingly slowly the mattress began to smoke.

By the time the guards reached the end of the catwalk and walked across the floor on the opposite side of the block the mattress sported its first flame. He watched the guards climb up the metal stairs to the top catwalk and begin their patrol there returning to his fire. It burned steadily. Now it was up to three different thieves housed on the top level to slow the guards. Rodriguez had given them all the order to cause a little trouble that afternoon. Tony was unable to see or hear anything from below, but the guards failed to arrive at their usual time, so he suspected they were getting plenty to complain about upstairs.

'Almeida, look sharp, they're coming,' warned the bank robber, passing his hand through the bars. 'Good luck.'

'Thanks, Martins.' Tony turned back to his bed, noting it burned steadily now, flames crackling round the top. He placed the second library book on the fire, watching it consumed. Rapidly he gathered his letters and Michelle's picture and hid them in his shirt, hearing the guards approaching. He said a quick prayer for help and stood in the middle of his cell, facing away from the bars, watching his fire.

'What the bloody hell is happening here?' screamed a guard, speaking rapidly into his two way radio. 'Prisoner, are you mad? What do you think you're doing?'

'Convict Almeida, turn round AT ONCE! What the hell are you doing?' demanded the second guard in a rage.

Tony turned round slowly, chewing his lip. A sudden memory of his sergeant came to him, crouched over a small pile of sticks in the desert on a patrol. 'Celebrating mid-summer,' he answered loudly, aware of the dozens of prisoners along the opposite row watching with bated breaths.

The fact that it was in fact only late spring failed to register with either of the outraged guards. 'Convict, move to the back of your cell and face the wall IMMEDIATELY,' one ordered. 'Hands behind your back. Move now!' he ordered furiously as Tony remained where he was. 'You'll feel my night stick, for certain.'

'Gee, what an incentive,' Tony muttered sarcastically. 'Move to the back so we can come in and beat you up – no! I'm watching my fire, it's supposed to burn all night,' he said firmly, enjoying their rage. They would not attempt an entry into his cell until there were six of them, and in the meantime he would have a little fun and slow them down. Quickly he crossed his cell, gathering his dirty blue towel and adding it to the flames.

A banging filled the block, a few prisoners yelling about fires, while those directly above him shouted questions as to what was happening below them. Tony opened his chest of drawers and removed his spare prison uniform and held it up for the guards to examine. 'Cool clothes,' he said, enjoying the clamor all around him. 'Should I take them to the fire?'

'Burn them, burn them,' yelled dozens of voices, every face pressed against the bars to witness the spectacle. Tony slowly carried the uniform over to the fire, holding it out above the flames.

'Convict Almeida, you drop that uniform, you'll end up in the hole so long you'll think you're a bloody termite,' warned a guard.

Slowly his fingers let go of his trousers, allowing them to slide into the fire. The guards watched outraged, while the screaming, banging and stamping intensified all around him. 'OH,' Tony yelled, amazed at his enjoyment of the situation.

'Convict Almeida, don't you dare,' shouted the second guard, as Tony let go of the denim shirt. 'OH NO!' he exclaimed, listening to yells of approval all around him_. Easy Almeida, you're having too much fun! Keep going like this and you'll join Summers lighting fires all round the States._

'What's going on,' Davis cried, arriving with four other guards. 'Restrain that convict at once! Almeida, you've had your fun. Move to the back of the cell right now.'

'No way,' Tony cried, aware of the need to create as big a disturbance as possible. 'I'm celebrating midsummer like those druids round the stone, and you can't stop me! This country has freedom of worship! Isn't that right?' he yelled, listening in delight to the answering yells of approval.

'Alright, get the tear gas,' snapped Davis, while Tony took a rapid step backwards, closing his eyes against the spray. Howls of protest filled the block – his eyes burned as though on fire themselves and he gasped for air. His door was opened and all six guards entered with masks, forcing him to the ground and pulling his hands behind his back. Davis removed his night stick once he was cuffed and set about beating him while Tony coughed in the gas, unable to curl up for protection as his hands and legs were held by the guards.

_Oh shit, that hurts. Much more of this and I won't be able to walk to the steel door, let alone escape!_

Sanchez noticed his plight for he yelled something about more fire. A couple of guards moved to his door, confirming to Davis that piles of burning paper littered the floor. 'Alright, get the convict moving. He's going to the warden for a spell in the SHU. You'll wish you were never born, Convict Almeida,' Davis smirked as he was pulled to his feet.

Six guards escorted him to the doors accompanied by Davis. The howls of protest continued, until Davis' patience snapped. 'That's enough, you scum! I'm canceling yard time for the next fortnight. NO YARD TIME!'

'Asshole,' yelled Tony as he was pushed along the center of the floor, taking care not to step on the burning pieces of paper the prisoners had thrown there. He paused against the wall just before the steel door, kicking off his shoe. 'Just a sec.' He reached forward with his foot, pulling it towards him, bending slightly to put it on and digging his fingers into his pocket. Unerringly they closed over the wire which he withdrew, forcing it upwards into the lock on his cuffs. _Steady, Almeida, this is the trickiest point in the escape. You've been trained to do this – take your time._ Deftly he moved the wire in the lock, feeling his success as the cuffs relaxed on his wrists.

A guard grabbed his arm, giving him a shove. 'Move it, convict.' One of them swiped an access card through the slot and the first steel door opened.

'Take a good look round, convict. You won't be seeing this place for a long time,' Davis said.

_I sure hope you're right. _He turned back, searching for Sanchez, noting his anxious expression. He allowed a smile to creep across his face, noting a relieved look as he was grabbed and pushed into the lobby. The first steel door slammed shut, trapping them. Tony pulled his cuffs off and grabbed Davis' gun before anyone could react.

'Alright, listen up,' he began, noting their startled expressions as he pressed his gun into Davis head. 'I want all your guns and radios on the floor right now, or he dies.' Without meaning to he had used his toughest tone, the one he reserved on difficult patrols in the army.

'Do it' Davis ordered, trembling against his weapon. Six guns and radios landed in a pile by his feet.

'You,' Tony pointed with his hand at the least aggressive guard. 'Pick them up and bring them to me.' The guard obeyed and he put them by his feet. 'Alright, take off your shirts.' He watched while they stripped, holding the gun tight against Davis head. 'Gag each other,' he ordered, watching in satisfaction as they obeyed his orders, gagging each other. 'Good. Now I want all handcuffs.' They pulled their cuffs out. 'Cuff each other,' he snapped, aware of the passing time. 'Not you. I want you to strip.' The guard gave him a hateful look, handing him his clothes. 'Shoes too,' Tony snapped, waiting till they were all restrained before he undressed and pulled the guard's clothes on. 'Alright, you! What kind of car have you got and where is it parked,' he questioned, lowering the man's gag.

'A red Toyota and it's parked in the second row.'

Tony nodded. 'Ok, access cards.' He removed all cards from their pockets and swiped one through the doors, noting it opening. He stepped outside and pushed it shut behind him, allowing himself to take several deep breaths. It was his first trip outdoors unescorted since his arrest over five months ago. He resisted the urge to throw his head back and gaze at the setting sun, moving purposefully towards the administration block.

_You can watch the sunset every evening if you make it out of here, Almeida._

Filled with deep reluctance he swiped a card through the slot, opening the steel gate. Tony forced himself to wait till the door closed before moving over to the second gate and swiping the same card. It beeped loudly and remained shut. His heart missed a few beats as he pulled the entire pack of cards out and examined them, selecting one a little different to the others. A mild claustrophobia overtook him as he waited in the small space, thrilled to see the door open. Taking another deep breath he entered the block, pulling the door closed behind him.

_Easy, Almeida. This is the second hardest part of the escape. You got to look natural to avoid arousing suspicion. Find the rest of the guards going off duty and follow the last few out._

He was reasonably familiar with the admin block by now, having been there several times before. Walking purposefully he passed the small door that led underground to the hole, suppressing a shudder. _Focus, Almeida_. He passed the staircase that led upwards to the warden's office and the other offices, noting several guards coming downstairs. Pushing his panic aside he joined them as they walked to the exit, chatting together.

'What are you doing on the weekend, Roper?'

'Not much, play a little baseball with the kids in the park, I guess!'

_Wow, they're human!_

More guards emerged from the staircase, surrounding Tony, who struggled with a violent urge to break out of the group and hide. Sooner or later some of the guards would recognize him – not necessarily only those from B block. There were the guards who had searched him when he arrived, the guards who had thrown him in the hole twice, the guards who had brought him back from there, the guards who had taken him to the medical center, and of course the guards from Administrative Segregation. Searching their faces out of the corners of his eyes he noticed one he had seen from his visit with his father just yesterday.

_Focus, Almeida, they're not expecting to see anyone but fellow guards here; they're not doing a search. Just keep going._

The group moved towards the exit en masse, Tony in the middle of them. Conversations floated all around him while he gazed forwards, pulling a bored expression onto his face. They passed the benches where he had first been stripped and placed into the prison's uniform and reached the large steel exit. One guard helpfully held the door open for the entire group. Tony stepped outside into the fresh air, trembling with excitement. He walked through the entrance courtyard in the middle of the group, taking care not to push ahead or lag behind. The large wooden doors stood closed in front of them, a guard in a booth opened his door and stepped outside. 'Cards' he requested and they all handed him ID cards which he ran rapidly through his scanner, not bothering to glance at faces. Tony handed him a card with a picture of the quietest guard and it passed through the scan without comment. His fingers felt moist as he reached for the card, walking through the open gate directly behind a guard he had never seen before. He found himself in a large car park, noticing the group disperse as they all headed towards the vehicles.

Now to find the red Toyota in the second row. Tony squinted in the setting sun, failing to locate it. Rapidly he ran his eyes along the row again. No Toyota sat in the entire row, red or otherwise. No Toyota was visible in the first or third rows, or the fourth. He chewed his lip, furious, aware he was in full view of the towers. He walked casually over to an older car and turning his back onto the guards pushed his wire inside the lock, opening it successfully. He pulled the panel off; pleased the car was too old to have any kind of security system.

'Hands on your head, prisoner! Step out of the car slowly,' ordered a stern voice. Swallowing, he looked up, seeing the car surrounded by armed guards, all their weapons trained on him. 'I'm not telling you again, prisoner. Move now or you'll get a bullet in your knee, and you'll never walk again!'

_Oh God oh God, what did I do wrong?_ Slowly he placed his hands on his head, climbing out of the car, searching the car park through the corners of his eyes, noting a group of deserted cars.

One guard grabbed him as he stepped out, slamming him with full force against the bonnet. Tony put a hand down as though to rub his head, grabbing the guard by the throat and spinning him to the ground. Before any of the group could respond he darted towards the group of vehicles, hearing shots ring out. He dived under a car, breathing heavily.

_Last chance, Almeida. Somehow they figured out your plan. Look round real quick, before they'll get the dogs, and keep moving. You've been trained to evade capture_. Noting no one stood in the next row he crawled forward to the opposite car, forcing his breathing to slow. A gap loomed in front of him. Bending low, he darted across it, hearing dogs in the background. _Dammit. They're not giving me a chance!_


	18. Chapter Eighteen: On The Run

A shot rang out close behind him as he slid under the car, crawling forward along the final row pausing momentarily before he darted across a large green area between the car park and the road. Hating the exposure he rushed on, weaving to avoid a couple of bullets, hearing dogs' barking closing on him. Desperately he searched the arrow straight highway, certain they would catch him. A large green open space lay beyond it on the other side, unmarked by a single tree. His ribs ached as he ran onwards, hearing a roaring in his ears. A large semi trailer screeched to a halt as he darted across a couple of feet in front of it.

Guards raced round the truck, spilling onto the opposite green area. Tony swallowed, creeping under the stationary vehicle and pulling himself up onto one of the axels, pressing his body as far into the darkness as he could manage.

'Get the hell out of that truck,' yelled the warden's voice, and he heard the cab door open and a man jump down. 'Why the hell aren't you looking where you're going, you knocked down a guard dog!'

'Why the frigging hell was that beast on the road?' yelled a furious red neck. 'I bloody braked so hard half the shit I'm taking will be broken, and it ain't coming out of my pay!'

'The truck's open sir,' a guard reported, noting the back of a trailer now banged in the wind.

'Alright, I'm going to need to search it. The prisoner is here somewhere, he didn't cross the road.'

'Now look here,' began the outraged driver, beginning to sound thoroughly irritated. 'I've got a schedule! There's no way in hell you're unloading my truck. If you can't keep a better eye on your cons that's your bad luck, but I'm due in Seattle tomorrow morning, and I'll BE there tomorrow morning.'

'I hear another word from you, I'll detain you under the homeland security act,' snapped the warden, in as threatening a voice as Tony had ever heard him use. 'Now unload that thing on the double. What the hell's this shit?' he demanded, as the guards began struggling with crates.

'Tomato ketchup,' snapped the driver, as annoyed as ever. 'And there's California oranges in the back trailer. And I ain't worried about no homeland security stuff, either. I'm telling you now, if you break any of those boxes, you better have a hell of an insurance! Shit,' he screamed, as a container fell on the ground. They all heard the sound of smashing glass. 'What the hell did you say your name was?' demanded the driver, pulling out a notebook.

Tony covered his mouth, attempting not to laugh. _Easy, Almeida. This truck is massive; you've got quite a bit of cover, especially if they unload the whole thing. Hang in there_.

'Use the ramp, idiots' snapped the warden, and presently Tony noticed crates wheeled down the back of the container. They formed a pile all round the truck, identical cardboard boxes full of glass bottles. He hung onto the axel, his arms threatening to dislodge from his body. _Easy Almeida. Sure your arms ache a bit, but don't give up. Wait a little longer, till they start unpacking the boxes, then you can take a chance and creep inside one of them_.

A trolley was wheeled past directly above him, clanging in his ear. A box was lifted by a couple of guards and dumped onto it. He heard the clinking of several bottles. The driver waited outside, kicking his foot against the wheel. 'How much are you unloading?' he demanded in a surly tone. 'You're gonna have to put it all back you know – that ain't my job. I just drive, see! And if you stack them wrong, they'll fall and shatter. My employer, the Ortega Bros, won't be real impressed with you at all. Standing blocking my highway!'

Tony peered through a crack in the side, watching the warden returning to the cab, a thunderous expression on his face. 'I've had enough of the bullshit,' he yelled. 'Open your mouth again; I'll stick you inside for uncooperative behavior!'

'Gee, I'm terrified,' snapped the driver, to Tony's intense delight. 'You do that, the Ortega Bros' lawyer will sue the arse off you, you'll have to move this thing outa the state.' He waved his hands at the prison.

The warden stalked away, and Tony allowed himself to move a little, both arms screaming in agony at the unnatural position. Darkness fell by the time the group of guards moved towards the boxes, and he allowed himself down and slipped onto the top of a wheel, praying the vehicle wouldn't move. It was warmer under the side of the truck, out of the biting wind. Tony was forced to lay his head on his knees as there was little space, waiting impatiently for the first of the containers to be unpacked.

'Alright, we've moved every box, sir, he's not there,' stated a guard.

'Search underneath the truck,' ordered the warden. 'Climb up every tire. I want that prisoner found, and you're all staying out here till we do, without extra pay!'

'Boy, I'd sure love to hand in my application to work in this place,' remarked the driver, obviously resigned to spending a large part of the night on the highway. 'Are there any openings?' He refused to step back as the warden waved a finger in his face. 'You threatening me again, mister? I'm just reminding you now; you've got to reload the entire truck after you find your con, that's if you find him, or if you don't. I think he's gone hours ago! Hell, he'll get to Seattle ahead of me, at this rate!'

The warden let out a strangled sound. 'Into the cab,' he ordered, waving a gun at the startled driver. Tony chewed his lip, forcing himself to remain silent. He heard guards approaching, climbing under the wheels. Watching until they all faced the other way, he climbed silently down and poked at the wheel, his back to them.

'No one there at all, sir,' reported a guard, as he climbed silently back on top of his wheel. 'We searched every tire.'

_Thank God for stupid people._

'Damn that traitor to hell,' swore the warden. 'Convict Almeida, I know you can hear me,' he yelled suddenly. 'I know you're somewhere on this truck. I'll give you exactly one minute to come out with your hands up, and you'll get away with a month in the SHU. If you don't come out, and we have to unload every box, I'll transfer you so far away you won't know which country you're in – that's after you get the crap beaten out of you! One, two, three…'

_I'm not going back, ever. Seems like you're just gonna have to unpack all those boxes, warden! _He lay curled up, noting his elevated heart beat, telling himself to stay calm. _Warden Brownlow would NEVER give you a chance to come out if he had a clue where you were, Almeida! Hang in there, you're doing great. He's never been this pissed off before!_

'Fifty nine, sixty,' finished the warden, his voice promising retribution. 'Alright Convict Almeida, have it your way. I'll see you get tried for this, and you were not so far from the death penalty last time either. You'll fry! I want every box unpacked,' he snapped at the guards.

'So what's he done?' questioned the truck driver, climbing back out of the cab with a cigarette and glancing at Tony's picture on the open laptop. 'Murder?'

'It's none of your business,' snarled the warden, turning to watch the first boxes unloaded.

'It's my truck that's held up, remember,' remarked the driver. 'Gee, you got half the police in the state here,' he cried, as a dozen police cars drove up.

'Warden Brownlow, I'm Captain Volkov, California Highway Patrol,' a decorated police officer said, shaking hands with the warden. 'This highway is closed for a hundred miles both directions. No one answering Almeida's description has been found.'

'Make sure of that,' snapped the warden. 'He's extremely dangerous. You remember that weird virus that killed all those people? His friends brought it into the country. They got more too. If he gets away he'll kill hundreds more, maybe thousands.'

_No I won't! You're a liar, warden, and you know it._

The captain hurried away, issuing orders in his radio. Tony watched them milling about through a patch of rust, sick with excitement. He noted the bright lights all around the truck, illuminating the darkness with the rays normally reserved for the daylight. There was no chance he could run for it, and his borrowed uniform was now filthy. It was all very well fooling the guards who checked the tires, they only assumed he'd really climbed up to look, but it would impossible to walk past that many guards and police and slip away. He had little alternative to remaining where he was at present.

'I know my truck better than your guys,' grumbled the driver. 'Why don't I take a look, so I can find the con and you can start reloading? My load of oranges will rot on the frigging highway.' He set off under the truck to Tony's alarm, poking his hand up behind the first tire. Tony pressed himself as far against the side as he could, knowing he was caught when he felt a hand on his leg. Silently he lowered his head and met the green eyes of an overweight bearded man in a tank top. He gazed at him pleadingly, shaking his head slightly and placing a finger over his lips. The man stared at him for a moment before moving on.

'He's not in there,' Tony heard him telling a few guards. Sick with relief, he took deep breaths, forcing his heartbeat to slow. 'I'm going for a piss behind the truck. Don't drive it away, will ya?' He heard his footsteps moving along the edge of the truck, over to the second trailer. 'What the hell do you cowboys imagine you're doing?' Tony heard him yell. 'Don't even think of opening those oranges, they're not packed in crates, they're for the wholesaler. It's one big pile.'

'You'll open anything we tell you to,' snapped Davis' voice. 'That lock looks pretty weak to me, Almeida could have picked it in a sec. He's probably in there now, laughing at us searching the first trailer. Where's the key, driver?'

The driver swore blue murder while he fetched the key and unlocked the trailer, standing aside. From where he lay with his head pressed against the rusty edge, Tony heard a dull roar, and the truck swayed slightly, depositing tens of thousands of unripe oranges a second later. A few rolled under his wheel. Bending carefully he picked two half ripe ones and peeled them, taking care to keep the skin in his pockets, pressing his nose against the fruit. When had he last seen an orange? Certainly not since his arrest. He managed to half it, chewing it carefully as it was too hard to separate into sections. Unripe as it was, no orange had ever tasted half as good to him before. He realized just how terribly hungry he was, and took a look around, lowering himself carefully to pick four more. Tony peeled them with his fingers, chewing them while he listened to the resultant swearing from the warden, Davis, the driver, and several police officers.

_You really need to get moving the moment you get a chance, Almeida. These guys are gonna be here till morning picking that lot up._ He peered out, sighing in frustration. The place was lit brilliantly, crawling with police. A group of them were positioned at a distance of forty feet from the truck, watching everything that moved. He finished the last orange and dropped silently to the ground behind the wheel, darting along the entire line, over to a half unpacked box that lay half under the trailer. He moved as many bottles as he could, climbing inside with difficulty, pulling the bottles above him.

_A pity the boxes are a little small, it would've been a lot safer to have them round the sides as well. Oh well, it's a lot better than nothing! Please come back and load the ketchup, would you._

The police captain wandered over to the truck, shining his torch into the empty container. 'It's obviously empty inside there, Warden,' he said, sounding regretful. 'Best find a few guards to load those boxes; I can't keep the highway closed indefinitely.'

'What about checking them again?' wandered the warden. 'I know Almeida, he's got to be here somewhere, there was no way he could've gotten any further.' The captain shrugged and left. 'Ok, Smith and Douglas, bayonets. I want you to poke through the middle of every box before it gets loaded. Adams, Van Roos, Dickson and James, start loading the boxes the moment they're checked. Let's move it. Everyone else search through the oranges.'

Tony pressed his eyes shut, attempting to curl himself up as tight as he could. He watched the guards approach the pile of boxes through a crack, noting them push their bayonets through the middle of each crate. He took a deep breath, noting them approaching his box, flattening himself against the bottom.

_Please don't poke through the bottom of this box!_ Not daring to breathe, he saw a sharp tip rip through his box, cutting it like knife cut into soft margarine. Dammit, they're too low. Shut your mouth now, Almeida! He pressed his hand over his mouth to avoid screaming out as the bayonet grazed his side, opening a deep gash. He rubbed his shirt over it rapidly as it was being pulled out. A moment later it was withdrawn through the hole and examined with great interest while he fought the desire to hiss in pain.

'There's a bit of red stuff.'

'So what? Half the bottles are broken!'

Their footsteps led away, after they loaded the box, further among the groups of scattered bottles. Tony lay curled inside his hiding place, fighting sharp pain. Wiping his fingers as best he could in the trousers he gently probed the wound, unable to resist a hiss of pain. It was quite deep, covering his hand with warm blood. He pulled his hand close to his face, examining the color of the blood through the hole the bayonet had pierced in the box, checking the texture. Relieved, he noted the bright red mess on his fingers. They had missed his liver, he decided, the blood would have been more purple then, and he would have a maximum of twenty minutes to live.

_You're hurt bad, Almeida, but you'll make it. Just remember to clean out that wound the first chance you get, or it'll get infected_. He heard more guards enter the trailer, dumping more boxes on top of each other. Once they left he tore a sleeve off the shirt he wore, making a rough bandage out of it, hoping to stop the bleeding. An eternity passed before the back of the trailer was slammed shut and a bolt put on, leaving him in total darkness. Tony remained where he was, unsure whether the warden would be satisfied with the search or insist on checking the inside of the trailer again. He removed the first bandage from his side and placed a second over it, noting the first was dripping blood_. I can't pass close to anyone, they'll notice the torn clothes and the blood and report me right away. I need to find someplace to rest up for a couple of days…_An image of his beach came to him, and he sighed heavily. He would have to rest there for several days, hidden. He had drinks there, and a packet of cookies, and plenty of fresh water, but he was bound to get extremely hungry. _Why didn't I think to put some bandages and medicines there? I got slammed on the reef once and had to use a beach towel till I got to the nearest hospital, and I still didn't learn._

An hour later he heard a dull slam, followed shortly by several footsteps moving to the front of the truck. 'I'll be on my way then. Good luck with finding your con!' remarked the driver, irritated beyond words. 'And you'll be hearing from the Ortega Bros' lawyers, you better be expecting that!' He climbed up into the cab, turning on the engine.

'Mr. Wilson, just another moment,' said the police captain, pausing outside the rusty crack in full view of Tony. 'If you notice the con after all, further down the road, here's my number. You're to call me immediately. Failure to do so would open you to a charge of aiding and abetting, that'll get you locked up right inside there,' he waved a hand in the direction of the prison. 'Anything at all out of the ordinary, you call me.'

'Yes officer, I sure will,' replied the driver. 'Can I go now?'

'Yes,' said the captain, and Tony offered up a silent prayer of thanks. 'And remember the speed limit!'

The truck pulled away, the trailer swaying slightly as it gathered speed. Tony lay in the box, content with remaining concealed for the moment, feeling the wheels moving directly underneath him, attempting to guess how fast they were moving. For the first time since his escape, he allowed his eyes to close momentarily. His breathing slowed and he slept for a short while before forcing them open.

_Time to leave the box, Almeida! You should hide near the door and get out as soon as this truck stops somewhere, before you get taken too far from your beach!_ Wincing, he pushed open the top of the box and lifted a few bottles over the edge before sitting up. The resulting pain made him groan aloud and he remained in the same position for a few minutes, steadying his breathing. Gritting his teeth he stood, stepping over the edge of the box onto one directly to the side, before lowering himself to the floor. Swear poured from his face while he pushed the piles of boxes aside to create a narrow passage to the back of the container.

An hour later the truck slowed and turned, and footsteps approached the back. The lock was opened and the driver flashed a torch at him, switching it off rapidly. 'Thought you were in there,' he sighed. 'Get moving con, those pigs will have a coupla road blocks further on, you can count on it. You hungry?'

'Aha,' Tony nodded, surprised to receive a couple of sandwiches. 'Thanks.'

The driver shrugged. 'I ain't got nothing more,' he said. 'Now that's my friend Billy's truck, I'm going to have a coupla drinks with him – drinks I need after all those pigs! Need a bloody long shower too,' he said, scratching his back. 'I didn't see no one around,' he told Tony.

'That's real decent of you,' Tony said, attempting to climb out. His arm was grabbed by steel hands and he was pulled out. 'I want you to know, if anything goes wrong, I didn't see you.'

'You better not have,' remarked the driver, locking the trailer again. 'I lost several bloody hours on the highway because of those assholes. They'll be hearing from the Ortega Brothers' lawyer, I'll tell ya that! Good luck, con.' He walked away across a large open space obviously used as a car park on the truckers' route, heading towards a well lit building. Tony watched him open a door and heard faint music float outside.

He turned purposefully away, crossing the dark highway and heading west, towards the coast. With luck he would be there by dawn if he walked all night.


	19. Chapter Nineteen: Tears Of Rain

Dawn found Tony stumbling along the rough ground above some cliffs, heading south towards his hidden beach. Every instinct heightened, he searched the area repeatedly for any sign of other humans, but found none. His only companions were a couple of thousand seabirds, squawking all round him as they rose from their nests in the cliffs. He rubbed his eyes, resting them on the roaring ocean below him, able to catch a faint glimpse of blue.

'You got ten minutes to rest, Almeida' he told himself relentlessly. 'I know you're tired and hurt, but you'll be there real soon now, and then you can sleep. It's just not safe here.' He forced himself to his feet, examining the wound. It had stopped bleeding a while back. Chewing his lip he continued, refusing to allow himself to pause before his eyes spotted the larger waves a mile out to sea, breaking over some reefs. Tears of relief filled his eyes as he found the path he had discovered years ago that led downwards, below the cliffs, to a tiny cove, unnoticeable from the top.

Tony paused, temporarily uncertain. Someone had been there recently, he noted a shoeprint a little further to the edge of the 'path' than he normally used. His ears were unable to detect any sound so he crept further, praying he would find his cave empty. The pain in his side was getting to be more than he could handle, a few more minutes and he would give up and sink down and weep.

The beach was deserted when he arrived at the bottom of the path, and though he listened as hard as he could he heard nothing. Someone had been there a couple of hours ago and had gone, most likely a determined fisherman, he concluded, moving slowly to his cave. He rounded a few boulders and slipped through the crack, unnoticeable from the cove, pausing immediately. Someone had been inside his cave. Two sleeping bags lay rolled out on the floor on top of each other, a pillow on the top one. A pile of his clothes lay beside it, t-shits, shorts, a pair of jeans and a jacket. A cool box lined one of the 'walls', and a gas cooker with a couple of canisters rested on top of one. A plastic bag lay beyond that, containing two saucepans of various sizes, beside bag of apricots. Tony shook his head to clear it, opening the cool box. It contained dozens of plastic lunch boxes. Trembling fingers reached for a letter inside the first one.

_Sweetheart, we found your 'beach' after a while, a real LONG while! We brought you a little food and something to sleep on. The food is already prepared; you'll just have to warm it up. There's also lots of cans at the back of the cave, and an opener. Tony, in case you're hurt, I left you a first aid kit near the cans, with painkillers and some antibiotics. This type is useful for cuts or bruises, to prevent the onset of infection, it's fairly strong. Take one tablet three times a day. Everything is sterile inside, ready to use. Honey, we hope you'll make it out safely and find use for these items. Take what you need. We expect to be followed around pretty closely if you do make it out, so we won't be able to see you, but know that our thoughts are with you day and night. There's some pesos buried under this box, it's not much but it's the best we could do at such short notice._

_Mom and Papa_

'Oh God,' Tony muttered, sinking onto the pile of sleeping bags, noting their softness. 'Why did they bring so much stuff? If anyone ever finds me here, they'll be charged with aiding and abetting a known traitor and no one can argue they were under duress! They'll get twenty years each, for sure.' He allowed himself a few minutes respite before he picked up an ancient beach towel, dipped it in the sea and spent the following hour wiping every surface thoroughly. _Hopefully they didn't touch any rocks!_

In considerable pain, he felt his way to the back of the cave, emerging into the sunlight moments later with a large first aid kit. Eagerly he opened it, noting rolls of bandages, the pack of antibiotics, several packs of painkillers, a syringe, a bottle of morphine and a needle and thread. He chewed his lip momentarily before picking up the tiny mirror at the bottom of the case and examining his wound. It appeared to be swelling, moisture seeping through the jagged edges. Sickened, he shut his eyes, giving himself a minute to process the image and steel himself for action. Tony rinsed his hands and washed off the blood with rain water that collected in a large depression, before running a sterile cloth over the area. He hissed aloud, pulling out the morphine and reading the recommended dosage. He removed the syringe and filled it, squeezing to allow a little air out before he injected himself at the edge of the wound, groaning aloud. _Don't go to sleep, Almeida, you got a little sewing to do!_

Tony lay as comfortably as he could against a warm black rock, placing the cushion behind his back, before threading the needle. _Alright, you're gonna face your greatest fear, Almeida, the doctor, only now there isn't one, so you're gonna have to treat yourself. Focus!_ Chewing his lip he placed the mirror opposite the wound, enabling him to see what he was doing, noting the depth of the cut. Recalling the first aid lessons he had paid only partial attention to decades ago, he resolved to begin at the deepest point, working through several layers till he reached the surface. He pressed the needle gently against his skin, unable to feel any sensation. 'Ok, the morphine's working,' he muttered, glancing at Michelle's photo that lay beside him. Tony forced his hands to steady as he inserted the needle at the deepest point, sewing the flesh together with neat even stitches. Beads of sweat trickled down his forehead as he worked, due to nerves he was unable to shake. It took him almost an entire hour before he reached the top, sewing the outside of his skin together.

_Alright Almeida, you done great! Go get a drink now, you're hot._ He moved inside, opening a lemonade and sipping it slowly, blissfully free of pain. The pile of sleeping bags beckoned him and he moved over to it slowly, pulling the top one over himself as he fell asleep.

Loud squawking woke him just before sunset. Tony opened his eyes, struggling with the sight that met them. Where in the world was he? Not in his cell, not in A- Seg, not in the infirmary…A grin spread across his face as he remembered the previous day. _You done it, Almeida, you're free. You're at the beach!_

Two seagulls squabbled over a fish, pulling it from each other's beaks. Tony sat on the sand, his feet in the water, watching the quarrel spellbound. Presently the birds ripped the fish apart and flew away, leaving him with the sound of the ocean. Feeling extremely hungry he went back inside, and removed the first plastic lunchbox. Tony emptied its contents into a saucepan, added a little water and warmed it, sighing in contentment. It was great to eat something familiar after such a long time, he thought, finding a plastic bowl he emptied it into. He carried it outside and ate in the fresh air, watching the sun sink into the ocean and the stars appear. A deep peace crept over him. No matter what else life had in store for him, he had been able to spend a day at 'his' beach, and no one could take that from him.

He wandered where his parents and Michelle were at the moment, hoping desperately they were all safe at home. He could only imagine how they would have been grilled by the police once the warden gave up on locating him. His parents would have been taken to separate interrogation rooms, almost certainly questioned before a lawyer would arrive, and pressed for any clues as to his intentions. It was doubtful they would learn anything useful from either of them; indeed he hoped they would doubt the value of the questioning in the first place, knowing he wouldn't put them in danger. Gazing at the stars he could almost hear his father's voice.

"I have no idea where Antonio is, but I wish him success. He did not deserve to be imprisoned." They would get nothing further from him, he thought, allowing a grin to creep across his face, no matter how long they kept him there. His mother would get angrier. "NO, I told you a hundred times before, I have no idea where my son is. Listen carefully! If I did know, I would be with him, making sure he was ok, not sitting here answering pointless questions!" "So you admit you would help him, should he contact you?" "You better believe it! And if you don't quit hassling me and let me home at once, I will call every newspaper in the country and tell them my son was clearly injured last time I saw him, in prison, a place where you were supposed to keep him safe. You sure you want to go there? All kinds of things might come out!" They would throw her out first, he reflected, smiling at the picture, but they would watch the house carefully.

Tony spent the entire night outside, wrapped in a sleeping bag, unable to grow tired of the stars and the ocean. There was no way he would allow himself to be captured alive, he decided, watching the moon sailing past some clouds. In a few days he would be strong enough to continue his journey to Mexico. He thanked God for his success up to that point and prayed for further assistance.

The following four days passed in the same peaceful way. Tony didn't dare get his wound wet, so he only permitted himself to lie in ankle deep water on his opposite side, reveling in the feeling of gentle waves washing round him. He ate five times a day, unable to feel full despite the large meals, feeling himself heal. His wound no longer throbbed, allowing him to cope with ordinary painkillers. When he summoned enough courage to remove the bandage it appeared clean, without any pus. _You missed your vocation, Almeida. You could have been a surgeon!_

Taking the pen left at the bottom of the box he wrote a short note to Michelle, knowing his parents would give it to her when they next deemed it safe to return to his beach. Chewing his lip he began writing, watching her picture beside him.

_Sweetheart, I love you more than life itself. Something tells me you're aware of that, but I wanted the chance to let you know again. I lie awake dreaming about you beside me, feeling your hair brush my face, but you're no longer there when I awake._

_Honey, I can't describe the nightmare prison life is, there just isn't enough paper for that, but whilst some people can 'switch off' and take it a day at a time, I just can't. I find it impossible to watch sick people denied treatment without comment. I can't stand the ten or so hours locked inside my cell with nothing to do except read, on the days I manage to avoid a disciplinary note, which is not all that often anyway. When they slam the door behind me I feel as though I'll suffocate – I have to sit down and concentrate on my breathing for a while to settle down. There's a couple of men inside who recognize me as taking them down and won't quit baiting me, you can guess what that means. The guards don't seem all that keen on traitors…_

_Sweetheart, I hope you'll understand one day why I had to leave. You should forget about me now, find someone who can care for you the way I did, who'll be there for you when you get home. Know that I wish you happiness, though I'll always hate the guy you'll choose._

_Your best friend and husband, Tony_

He rubbed his eyes as he placed the letter inside the cool box.

Tony warmed up his final meal five days after his escape, eating it outside during sunset. He would leave later that evening, he decided. A part of him felt deep reluctance to leave his cave, all too aware of the dangers that awaited him outside, but his food was beginning to run low. Idly he wandered how seriously they were taking the search for him. He hoped logic would prevail higher up, where it was known he was no danger to anyone. _Won't happen that way Almeida! The treatment you received in prison indicates they've totally washed their hands off you and left you to sink. Chances are you'll be treated as any other escapee, with all authorities hunting for you. _He swallowed involuntarily at the thought, glancing round his beach again.

Before he left he hid the cool box further inside the cave, washed every surface yet again, and dug up his box of money. All 10 000 dollars were there, together with 3000 pesos. Tony took them, together with a 1000 dollars, and scribbled a short note which he replaced in the box, thanking his parents for the money and instructing them to give the remainder to Michelle for the house. Once again he buried the box, slipping the money in his pocket. He picked up the large backpack they had thoughtfully provided him, placed some tins and an opener inside, packing a small saucepan, his gas cooker, a sleeping bag and a change of clothes.

The night proved surprisingly cool after the heat of the day. Tony pulled on his jacket, filled his water bottle, had a drink and whispered a final goodbye to his beach. He set off, climbing over some rocks to reach the dirt road that ran above the cliffs, heading south. Nothing moved in the moonlight except himself, and the dark ocean far below_. I'm sorry, Michelle. I'm leaving the States like the traitor they branded me, silently like a fugitive, which is what they've turned me into. I hope we get to meet again someday…_

A distant throbbing startled him out of his reverie around 4:00 a.m. He froze, straining his ears to identify the sound. It continued its approach, steadily louder. Tony left the exposed area in a flash, diving into the undergrowth on the opposite side of the road, pressing himself deep into a bush. A police helicopter flew by, lighting up the cliffs with a spotlight. _Are they looking for you, Almeida, or is something about to go down here tonight?_ He remained where he was, rewarded twenty minutes later with the sight of the helicopter returning along the coast, flying closer to the road. His heart leapt to his throat as he watched, praying they wouldn't fly any closer to the brush-wood. Once it flew past he rose and crept further, his senses heightened. The coast was obviously unsafe, he would do better to stick to the brush-wood and move further inland at his first opportunity.

The peace of the night and his surroundings lost on him, he moved forward warily, avoiding any twigs that might snap under his feet and expose his location to anyone, if indeed there was anyone around. Tony had no idea whether his need for caution was justified or whether he should press on faster. He rubbed the side of his face, tired out. His side ached and he debated whether to continue another hour and put a little more distance between himself and the helicopter's flight path or simply find a secure spot and lie low, giving his still not fully healed body rest. The point was moot in any case, he decided, aware the coast consisted of steep cliffs with no hiding places, forcing him to stay in the brush-wood. He would need to dig himself a hole beside a tree to offer as much shade as he could get for the following day. The silence was shattered by further throbbing causing him to crouch low beside a tree, cursing under his breath. _They're definitely looking for something specific, Almeida._

This time the helicopter flew over the undergrowth, lighting up a wide track in the immediate vicinity of the road. Heart beating wildly he crouched under the tree, barely allowing himself to breathe as the spot a few feet from him was lit up with the brilliance of day. The helicopter lingered for a moment before flying further south, following an even line. It would return in about twenty minutes, he guessed, flying further into the brush-wood. Once the sound of the engine died away he rose and crept further from the road, determined to avoid the searchlight. He would hide one final time, make certain the helicopter would search further from the road, before he would double back and hide closer to the road, in the area they already searched. 'I don't need this tonight' he muttered to himself as he crept forward. Once he reached a thick bush he crawled beneath it, removing his backpack and taking a painkiller with a mouthful of water from his bottle. The surrounding silence became oppressive, even the chirping of the night insects silenced.

The helicopter continued its sweep, flying steadily closer towards him. Tony allowed his head to peer between two branches, watching its return, calculating the distance it would pass from him. He had a dozen feet, he decided, and pressed his head back into the bush, lying motionless on the ground. It crept closer excruciatingly slowly, filling the night with its deafening roar. Tony's hands slowly covered his ears as it passed him, feeling the ground vibrate.

Once it flew further he uncovered his ears and sat up, unable to hear anything over the din of the engine. Cautiously he searched the area, crawling beneath the overhanging branches and standing up slowly. Head throbbing in the din, he set off back towards the coast, hoping the helicopter would not search the same area twice, aware he had few remaining options. The area he was in would end beside a highway soon enough, he had nowhere else to hide if he failed to return to the coast.

A sharp click of a bolt being drawn back caused him to swing around, pulling Davis' gun out in one single motion. 'Drop your weapon, Almeida,' a voice told him, and he raised his eyes to see a Marine aiming his own weapon directly at his head.

Tony shook his head silently, pressing the trigger and firing off a round before the Marine could shoot first. All five shots missed the man by a fraction, as he had intended, startling him momentarily while he made a run for it. 'Stop now, Almeida, or I'll shoot,' yelled the Marine, firing off his own rounds, all of which went wide. As he ran towards the coast, Tony was certain he heard movement from several locations, all converging on his position. A platoon was out to hunt him down, he assumed, practicing their tracking skills on a live target, called in to apprehend him as they had undergone the same rigorous training in avoiding detection as he had.

A shot fired directly opposite him missed him by an inch as he reached the road and rushed across it, unable to think which way to run. He was completely surrounded; he saw shadows moving from every angle, bar one. 'I'm real sorry' he muttered in a final prayer as he rushed towards the cliffs, hearing the savage roar of waves battering the cliffs.

'Halt, Almeida,' yelled another voice, and a bullet entered him, knocking him to the ground. Tony gasped with pain and shock, before instinct took over and he crawled determinedly the final few feet towards the edge. A hand on his foot halted his fall over the side, holding him relentlessly while he attempted to kick himself free. Another arm grabbed him, then several more, and he was pulled back to the road on his stomach, struggling all the way. 'You don't die without our permission, Almeida!' said the same Marine.

Rough hands pinned him down, forcing his face into the dirt as they locked his wrists in cuffs. The same hands held him down while his feet were shackled. Through it all he fought furiously, longing for a bullet in the brain. One of the Marines slapped him hard across the face instead once he was hauled to his feet. Tony was pushed along the road to the helicopter that had settled, pulled inside by merciless hands.

'Welcome, Convict Almeida,' greeted Davis, to his intense despair. 'It took us quite a while to find you. Without Agent Philips from CTU remembering you used to go to a beach about a hundred miles south of LA we'd never have found you. Lucky we got the Marines to help; you're a real crafty one. Alright, let's go, Warden Brownlow is keen to see this man.'

The helicopter rose as he was secured to his seat, his wound ignored. Warm blood poured from his side close to his bayonet wound, which throbbed beside the new injury. All too soon they landed, pulling him out on the green area outside the prison, beside the highway, now surrounded by an army of armed guards and dogs.

'On your knees. Hands on your head, don't you dare remove them.' The warden moved up to him, tightening his cuffs. 'You can kneel there facing the prison, convict, while I sort out a few things,' Brownlow told him, turning to go. 'Move a muscle, the guard will hit you with his night stick.'

'That bullet went in real deep,' Tony protested. 'It's bleeding.'

'That's your hard luck, Almeida! You won't die, not from that at any rate!' He left Tony, moving to speak to the Marine captain.

Tony breathed slowly, struggling to control the pain in his side where the bullet sat. _Easy, Almeida. Slow shallow breaths, in and out._ His heart ached as he was forced to stare at the prison. The courtyards and towers were illuminated brightly; the walls were lit up, throwing the entire area round it within its bright glow. He saw the locked gate, and the top of the administration building, and the blocks where the prisoners in general population were housed, and beyond them lay A-Seg, though he couldn't see it from his angle, and there were more buildings behind that. An icy wind blew through him, chilling him, and the heavens opened. Rain poured down, reducing visibility – turning the entire prison into a bright glow. His eyes narrowed to avoid the torrent, icy water merging with warm salty tears. _Why the hell would Philips rat on me? I promoted him twice, and he was aware of the circumstances of my 'treason.' He knew I was no danger to anyone!_

'Convict Almeida, on your feet! You're going back to prison! Move it.'

A dozen guards accompanied him as he stumbled back, his hands on his head. His ribs ached with every breath, each step reminding him of his failure. They crossed the car park, Tony remembering the bullet holes dotting a couple of cars, aware he would be held responsible for it. The gates loomed ever larger as they approached, throwing a shadow across the lawn. 'Prisoner halt,' ordered a guard and the gates creaked open. Tony was given a push from behind to get moving as he failed to respond to the order to do so, feeling the life crushed out of him.

'Take him to medical to get that stitched,' ordered the warden, 'and then be sure to return him to me. Convict Almeida and I have something to discuss.'

The doctor on duty was unfamiliar to Tony, and administered a painkiller, removing the bullet without bothering for it to take full effect. He gritted his teeth, aware this was only the beginning of what lay in store. A note was scribbled and handed to a guard, and he was ordered to put his blood soaked underwear on.

Warden Brownlow sat at his desk, glancing through a file when Tony arrived, accompanied by six guards, hands cuffed securely behind him. He stared at him, shaking his head, while Tony met his eyes, impassive.

_I'm not gonna shrink from you, you bastard. You're gonna have me beaten whatever I'll do. Do your worst, I don't care anymore!_

'Convict Almeida, I don't like your attitude. At this point prisoners would be begging for clemency, promising to become model inmates – whilst your expression still indicates blatant defiance. You've been given a sentence, and you WILL serve it all, every day of it. The community appointed me to make sure felons like you stay behind secure walls.

'Now let's see what we've got here. Vandalism of prison property, failure to respond to verbal orders from two corrections officers, failure to allow entry into your cell, taking a block supervisor hostage!' He paused and shook his head, 'disarming six corrections officers, impersonating one, leaving the place of your confinement without authorization, failure to halt when ordered to do so, causing six vehicles extensive damage, holding up a semi trailer for hours, necessitating a massive man hunt by this establishment and the Marines. What do you think you deserve for that?'

Tony shrugged. 'I'm sure you'll tell me,' he replied sarcastically.

The warden shrugged. 'You'll be tried for your attempted escape by the next court that sits in this penitentiary next month. I'm going to recommend capital punishment.' He paused to regard Tony, who gazed back at him unblinking. 'In the meantime, you're confined to the SHU.'

Tony followed the guards through the block and across the courtyards, heading beyond A-Seg to the deepest part of the compound, a prison within a prison. The doors were unlocked and he stepped inside yet another block, face impassive, heart beating rapidly.


	20. Chapter Twenty: Special Housing Unit

The total silence within the block struck him first as he stood behind the steel doors, breathing slowly. Was this place empty of human inhabitants? No, it couldn't possibly be, he told himself, he was in the dreaded SHU. There were plenty of people there at all times, Rodriguez had told him, so why couldn't he hear the distant yelling? Mystified, he followed the guards into an office, passing through two locked steel doors to get inside.

The office was much the same as it's counterpart in A-Seg, a large empty space with a desk at one end and a wall of shelving cabinets. White tiles lined the floor and a neon light glowed overhead.

_This is where they'll fill in their forms and beat the crap out of me._ He forced a disinterested look onto his face as a clerk came out and accepted a sheaf of papers from the warden a guard handed him. He opened a blue folder and filled it out rapidly without bothering to glance at Tony. When it was completed he closed it and phoned someone, staring at the desk till an office door opened.

'Form complete?' inquired a man in a grey suit, glancing at the clerk.

'Yes sir. He's here for an indefinite term, till a trial,' answered the clerk, opening the folder.

'Aha,' replied the supervisor. 'What have we got? Another gang member?'

'No, he's the escapee.'

The supervisor glanced gravely at Tony. 'Strip him. Search him, he'll have some contraband.'

He leaned against a wall while two guards opened the cuffs and gave him a shove. 'Strip, prisoner.' Tony pulled off his blood soaked shirt with difficulty, allowing it to drop on the ground. He removed his vest and threw it at his feet, undoing the trousers. The supervisor snorted as he withdrew them. 'You'll regret this, convict,' he remarked, nodding his head at the jeans.

_Don't I know it? As though anything you guys can do would make me feel worse than I already do!_ He stood before them naked, head held high, fixing his eyes on a brick while they searched his clothes. They discovered his wire immediately and removed it, noting his ability to pick locks in his file. Michelle's picture remained undiscovered under his left foot in the excitement his money generated. His socks were felt carefully and placed in a pile with the clothes they removed, and he was handed his underwear. He pulled them on hurriedly, straightening once again. Now to pick up that photo without their noticing. The door opened and the warden walked in, examining him from head to toe.

'Alright, prisoner Almeida, I'll give you a chance to save your skin. Who helped you escape?' His eyes bore into Tony's.

'No one, sir,' Tony replied, staring insolently back.

The warden frowned. 'Who helped you collect all the stuff necessary for the fire? You're not a thief, and you certainly had no money to buy anything! Who helped you outside? I will ask nicely one final time, prisoner, before I'll have it beaten out of you.'

_I know you, Brownlow. You'll have me beaten whatever I do. You can kill me, before I open my mouth._

'Alright, Almeida, fools always learn the hard way,' the warden remarked, turning to the guards. 'Begin.' Two of them set about beating Tony evenly, one on the back and the other on his legs. He remained silent, focusing on the row of bricks ahead of him, emptying his mind of everything.

Suddenly his beating stopped. Tony glanced round to see the warden regarding him with a patient expression. 'Ready to talk, prisoner?' His eyes met the warden's before he returned his gaze to the bricks ahead of him. Moving shadows prepared him for the resumption of the beating. One blow landed on his wound, causing a break in his concentration while fiery pain rushed through him. Gasping for air he bent double, hearing a groan escape. The world swayed around him as he forced himself to straighten, returning his gaze to the bricks.

'Convict Almeida, name the people who helped you. I have a wire, and a considerable sum of money, who gave them to you? Let's start at the beginning. Who gave you the wire and a lighter? Those car thieves, I'll bet. Name them – Rodriguez, Sanchez, who?' He waited for a second before waving his hand. Tony took a deep breath in time before another blow landed on his shoulders with greater force than the previous ones, propelling him forward. He sank down on his knees, covering the photo with his body, sinking to the ground. His beating continued unabated while he slid a hand under himself, feeling the picture, sliding it into his underwear as he wriggled around dodging blows. 'Convict, you ready to give me some names yet?' demanded the warden more impatiently. He ignored the question, curling himself up into a ball. 'Alright, Almeida, you asked for it! Continue.' More blows landed on him, burning as they hit already injured areas. A minute later the warden again stopped the punishment.

'Convict Almeida, tell me now, or I'll detain every one of the car thieves and tell them I'm doing so as you gave me their name! You'll be real popular then.'

The world swam sickening round Tony. He swallowed some bile and rolled over to face the warden. 'They'll never believe you! Say what you want!'

He noticed the warden's face turned deep purple and he snapped, 'beat the crap out of him. That trouble maker will learn how to address his superiors.' The guards raised their sticks again and he squeezed his eyes shut, unable to hide the pain from them.

Gentle waves washed over the shore, rushing over his aching body. Tony struggled to see which beach he was at, coming round abruptly as he was shaken violently. 'Ok, he's back. Continue the punishment,' snapped the warden's voice. He curled himself tighter, struggling to picture Michelle on the beach, surprised to feel no further blows. Instead he was hauled to his feet and he felt himself dragged out of the room by his arms, onto a large floor similar to B Block except it consisted of two tiers rather than three, and solid steel doors closed off every cell. He was dragged up a flight of stairs and ordered to stop while a card was placed into a slot. The door opened noiselessly and he was ordered in. He managed to take a few steps inside, hearing the door slammed behind him. Forcing his eyes to remain open, he stumbled to the bed and sank onto it, allowing the inviting darkness to envelop him.

His tray banged onto the slot woke him and he forced himself up, carried it back to his bed and started eating. There was a pile of mashed potato with gravy and a few pieces of gristle. He chewed slowly, inspecting the cell. Obviously this place was designed as a permanent home, containing a toilet, basin, and bed. There was no table or chair or place to store any personal items. The entire place was tiny, leaving a gap of two feet between his bed and toilet.

_It's a box, Almeida. It's not a cage like A-Seg, where you stay for a week or so, it's a box to store prisoners who've managed to piss someone off._

He forced himself up and returned his tray, waiting on his bed till they removed it. He saw his tray moving backwards and the slot was banged before he could catch sight of a hand. Wincing, he walked over to the door, noting the presence of a peephole near the top right hand corner. So they would carry out random checks, and he wouldn't be any the wiser. Still, there was no way he could annoy anyone here. He pulled off his underwear and examined his bruises, noting they were purple or blue. _You've been here at least a day already, Almeida. I guess they just didn't bother to leave any food before._ He turned the single tap, cupping his hands and poured icy water down his back, proceeding to wash. Slightly refreshed, he moved over to his bed and sank down. At least he was in too much pain to wish to wander around; he would find his cramped quarters more irritating in the following days.

The lights dimmed – so it was night time. Tony closed his eyes, refusing to allow himself to dwell on his failed escape attempt. _Put it behind you, Almeida! You'll try again, soon as they let you outa here. Besides, Warden Brownlow may get his wish, they might well fry you._ He shut his eyes, picturing being strapped to a chair and a man in black hitting a switch. He wandered dully whether it would hurt for long.

His tray slammed into the slot woke him the next morning. Blinking, he gazed around his box, wandering where he was for a moment. He had spent long enough in prison to begin moving towards his tray before he had fully sorted through the previous day's events. Porridge! Tony grimaced, allowing a heavy sigh to escape as he laid the tray carefully on his knees. Bright light dulled as it hit the grey walls, unmarked by any decoration. Gazing around slowly he dipped his spoon into the bowl, swallowing it automatically and dipping it again.

Whoever designed the 'box' had a preference for grey, he decided, as he finished his meal. Apart from the walls, the floor consisted of grey tiles, and the ceiling was grey too, a slightly lighter shade than the walls. The steel door was dark grey, of course, and the toilet and basin had also been painted in a similar hue. He understood Rodriguez's dread of being returned to this place, he had spent something like eight months there.

He returned his tray, watching it disappear minutes later. The day stretched ahead of him, without a single task that required doing, a single sentence that needed to be spoken, a single person speaking to him. Rubbing his face vigorously he settled on the bed, listening for any sound and failing to hear anything. Tony lay on his stomach, propping his face in his hands, forcing himself to focus on work, anything to avoid remembering his short lived freedom, struggling to recall everything about his list of suspicious Muslims. There was a gap in the pattern, and he would find it, only it would be so easy with his computer. Still, he foresaw days of nothing else to occupy his mind.

He received a cold lunch and lay down to sleep afterwards, resting his head on his hands. _"Siesta time, Tony – have a rest. The afternoon's problems will get here soon enough." _Hot tears filled his eyes as he pressed them shut.

He received more mashed potatoes for dinner, with an egg. He pushed his food around his plate for a while, longing to see something green. No fruit, no vegetables, he would start getting sick soon. He was unable to fall asleep again after dinner; he lay on his stomach and allowed himself to think about Michelle.

His slot opened unexpectedly two days later, as he was struggling to contain his boredom. 'Prisoner, push your hands through the slot,' ordered a guard. Mystified, he obeyed, feeling cold steel cuffs placed on them. 'Move to the back of your cell and face the wall,' ordered the same voice. He pulled his hands back inside his cell and moved to comply, hearing his door open. 'Outside, prisoner.' He stepped outside, terror in his stomach, convinced he was being taken for his 'trial'. Struggling to contain his fear he followed six guards along the catwalk and down the stairs, over to a pair of steel doors, and out. Harsh sunlight reflected off concrete with no shade forced his eyes shut, and he felt himself propelled forward, through a long steel cage somewhat like a corridor and into a second one, into which he was locked. 'You have exactly 30 minutes yard time, prisoner,' a guard informed him. 'You are forbidden to lean against the bars. You are forbidden to speak to anyone. Any infraction of the rules and you will find yourself back inside your cell.' He turned away.

Tony gazed around, startled. He had been granted 'yard time', and this must be the 'yard'. He searched the area, noting that it was indeed a yard covered with long narrow cages, extending all the way across the top, a couple of them occupied by prisoners who paced their lengths, all cuffed. Nobody spoke. He gazed upwards, searching for a few clouds, seeing them floating past through the cage's bars. Following the other prisoners' example he strolled the length of his cage, turning before he could touch the bars at the end and walked back, gazing round through the corners of his eyes. Surprisingly none of the other prisoners spared him a glance in their endless pacing. He stared at them openly, hearing a loud clang on his cage.

'Prisoner, come here!' He hurried back, wandering what they wanted with him, pausing a couple of feet before the cage's door. 'Stop staring at the other inmates immediately! Do you understand what I'm saying?'

'Yes sir,' Tony replied.

'Good. This is not a holiday camp, you know! Now you have exactly nineteen minutes left – use it!'

'Yes sir,' Tony said again, surprised at how precisely they measured his time outdoors. He watched the guards bang on another corridor and a prisoner returned to them silently, following them inside, trembling slightly.

_What kind of hell is this place? Nobody protests about ANYTHING! Follow their example, Almeida; they seem to know what's going on round here._

He paced the cage, filling his lungs with fresh air, dreading the return indoors. All too soon the guards banged on his corridor and he returned, not wishing to irritate them. They led him back inside, pausing to lock the steel door behind them. 'Prisoner, halt,' snapped a guard and Tony stopped in his tracks, watching another prisoner hauled along the floor. His heart sank, noticing the curly dark hair and the hawk on the man's arm.

'Sanchez,' he gasped.

Sanchez gazed at the ground, refusing to meet his eyes. 'You can thank Convict Almeida for coming here,' a guard said, pulling him to a stop. 'Thank him now! I wanna hear it. He gave us your name.'

'That's a lie,' Tony snapped, outraged. 'I didn't give any names coz no one helped me!'

'Silence, convict! Why else would we have sentenced Sanchez to six months?'

Tony shook his head, struggling to control his rage. 'Coz you're bastards, that's why! I never gave any names, and you know it. Don't believe the gringos, Sanchez,' he pleaded, earning himself a huge blow from the nearest guard.

Sanchez raised his eyes for the first time. 'I don't, amigo,' he replied, receiving a blow.

'Convict Almeida, you're cited for insulting the corrections officers in the SHU. That's a loss of three weeks yard time!' Tony nodded his head slightly, narrowing his eyes.

'Yeah' he muttered.

He sat down on his bed listening to the echo of the door banging behind him. Three whole weeks locked in this box, he would go mad! There were no books, no personal effects, no new mail…no chance to write to anyone either.

_Why the hell did they have to drag Sanchez into this? He's the nicest one of the entire group, he didn't deserve this. He'll really go nuts locked up here. Just because he was beginning to be my friend…. You're not gonna speak to anyone else after this, Almeida – anyone who shows you some kindness gets dragged along with you. You'll stay by yourself!_

Tony struggled with his rage, getting up restlessly and pacing between the door and the wall, taking care not to bump into either the bed or the basin. Inevitably he banged his knee in the bed, cursing aloud. They brought him no meals for the remainder of the day.

Six guards came for him three days later, opening his slot an hour after breakfast. Tony placed his hands through the slot like on the previous occasion, his heart hammering in his chest. He had no yard time; he must be going to his trial. _Focus, Almeida. You've already got a life sentence, they can't give you anymore! You hold you your head up and relax._

He was led along the floor opposite the office and a steel door was unlocked. Entering it, he noticed a table and chairs, and his lawyer glancing through an open file. The guards left after shackling him to a chair.

His lawyer shook his head slowly, examining Tony. 'Good morning, Tony. You do manage to keep me busy! Your trial is held in an hour, and I have been permitted exactly 20 minutes to question you, to attempt to find any reason to mitigate your actions.'

Tony gazed at the table in silence, placing his cuffed hands in front of him.

'Dammit Tony, I'm on a real tight schedule here,' warned the lawyer. 'I need something to work with, or they'll go all the way.'

Tony sighed deeply, examining his hands. 'Look, Paul, I'm real grateful for all your help, but I don't care what happens anymore. If they wanna kill me, that's ok.' He refused to glance at the man, sensing his obvious displeasure.

'It's "ok" is it? Well it might be, to you, but it sure won't be to Michelle,' replied the lawyer.

Tony raised his head for the first time and stared at the man. 'Did you see her?' he asked eagerly.

'I just came here after seeing her. She's terribly worried about you; she can't imagine why you ran. Now I know your life is pretty bad and you can't face this existence, but how do you think she would feel, if they were to kill you?'

Tony let out a strangled sound, unable to reply.

His lawyer nodded. 'Alright, we understand each other. Now I need as many examples of unfair treatment as you can provide examples of harsh punishment, any scars you can show.' Tony nodded and attempted to explain his life as best he could in the remaining few minutes. All too soon the lawyer was led out and he was left alone in the room, rubbing his face with his hands, aware they were discussing him. After an eternity his guards returned and led him into a room on the other side of the main floor.

An unknown judge sat in a tiny courtroom, gazing through a file. Tony was shackled to a table, glancing around. The room was empty of all but the judge, the warden and his guards. He wandered where his lawyer was.

'Antonio Almeida, rise and face the bench,' the judge began. Tony got up, wandering what would happen next. 'I have your file before me. According to Warden Brownlow, you've caused nothing but trouble since your arrival at this penitentiary. I've reviewed your file with your lawyer and found this to be the case. The Justice Department is showing you clemency one final time, convict. Attempt another escape, and you will be sentenced to death by lethal injection. I will give you a copy of the document. I've also authorized Warden Brownlow's request to transfer you. Remove the prisoner. Next.'

Tony was unshackled and led back to his cell, his thoughts in a whirl. A copy of the document was handed to him, he read it through several times, noting the legal terminology and the stamp.

_Guess you're gonna have to be a hundred percent certain your next escape will work flawlessly, Almeida!_ He felt the beginnings of another headache. So he was to be transferred. Warden Brownlow had had enough of him, well; the feeling was mutual as far as he was concerned. _Transferred to where? A lot further away, I'll bet! They're gonna make it impossible for you to have any visitors!_ He buried his head in his hands, allowing the document to slip through his fingers and slide onto the floor.


	21. Chapter Twenty One: Transfer

Tony blinked at the slot in surprise, not having expected it to open so soon following breakfast. Without waiting for the order he got off his bed and pushed his hands through, pulling them back when they were cuffed, and moved to face the back wall. His door was opened and six guards entered, leading him outside. He was led downstairs and straight through the block, outdoors past A-Seg and round B Block. He was led through the administration building where a bored clerk crossed his name off a list. A guard gave him a push to get moving, and he was led outdoors again, into the entrance courtyard.

Tony gazed around, sobered. A bus stood in the centre of the yard, surrounded by armed guards. Two prisoners awaited their turn to board, shacked as he was. He failed to recognize either of them. A couple of guards moved the first one inside, and a minute passed before the second was summoned. Tony was moved further along the queue, turning to gaze behind him as a couple of prisoners were added to the line. His features softened before he could help himself, and Sanchez gave him a brief grin before a guard poked him sharply in the ribs.

'Get moving, prisoner.' Tony followed him up the stairs of the bus and was moved to the first row. 'Sit!' ordered a guard inside the bus, shackling his legs to two bolts on the ground, his arms to the two arm rests and placing a chain round his waist, securing that into the side of the chair. 'Prisoner secure,' called the guard and another moved to the door of the bus. 'Next'.

Tony watched as Sanchez was led inside, delighted to have him pushed into the seat beside him. They remained silent while Sanchez was secured, turning to face each other as the guard fetched his next prisoner.

'So, amigo, we're going on a journey,' Sanchez said, with a sigh. 'I haven't been anywhere for the past eight years,' he admitted softly.

Tony shuddered, unable to imagine remaining anywhere for that length of time. He found himself unable to formulate a single reply.

'I only have another year left,' Sanchez continued. 'I kinda thought I'd spend it with the rest of the guys, over here.'

'I'm real sorry,' Tony began, but Sanchez shook his head.

'Amigo, it was nothing to do with you. They were real pissed off; they wanted to grab someone else too.'

'At least you'll get to see them next year,' Tony said softly. 'Where did you guys all live, anyway?'

'LA, same as you,' Sanchez told him, amused. 'This move gonna bother your visits with your family, amigo?' he questioned astutely.

Tony nodded. 'Si.'

'They do it all the time in Federal Prisons, amigo, even if you didn't do much. The moment you get visitors showing up regularly, and lots of mail, they transfer you. They don't even need a reason to do so – lack of room is quite sufficient. I wander where we're going.'

Tony shook his head, having no idea. He rested his head against the glass window, sighing quietly. 'It's bullet proof.'

Sanchez nodded without comment. They watched four black men led to the back of the bus, followed by six white thugs seated directly opposite them in the front. 'It's gonna be an interesting journey,' Sanchez predicted to a mystified Tony. 'Look, amigo, these here are the Aryan Brotherhood, and those there are the Black Panthers!'

'I take it they don't get on?' Tony asked unnecessarily, eyeing them warily.

Sanchez laughed aloud. 'Amigo, you've been living in your own 'dream' world. They'll kill each other given half a chance. Oh shit, look what else we got.'

Tony saw two Spanish looking prisoners seated directly behind the Aryan Brothers. He shrugged. 'What's wrong with them?'

'They're the Mexican mafia, amigo. Southern Mexican. You don't want them to notice you. Don't look at them.'

Tony gazed out of his window. 'Fine with me,' he agreed. 'Look, some bikers are coming.' They watched two of Dogface's group being led onto the bus; he recognized one of them from the fight. They were shackled directly behind them. Tony glanced around rapidly. 'Seems we're full up. There's only a few more seats for the guards.'

'Here comes the driver,' announced Sanchez as the last six guards climbed aboard, and a driver settled in a bullet proof cage at the wheel. 'Now for the speech.'

Tony groaned quietly as the warden climbed on, calling for silence. Everyone stopped talking and stared at him. 'Convicts, you are being moved to another facility – the majority of you troublemakers could use time away from your mates. I'm gonna miss each and every one of you personally, especially you, Almeida,' he snapped, noticing Tony had turned to gaze out of the window. 'You're gonna be real welcome in the new penitentiary, real welcome. Now let me warn you, this bus won't be stopping till you arrive, so don't imagine you're getting any toilet breaks! The slightest disturbance will result in your confinement in the SHU upon arrival. That's all, have a safe trip.' He gazed at them disdainfully and left the bus.

'Bye' Tony muttered, wishing he had the use of his hands to wave. Sanchez gave a snort, shaking his head.

'Amigo,' he said, as the engines started up, 'a word of advice. You're not that new to prison anymore. You've seen you can't win against them. Just keep quiet and go with the flow. We're not exactly going to a holiday camp!'

Tony nodded in silence, watching the gates open up for the bus. He stared at the car park he had been discovered in, stared at the highway, watched them turning onto it, heading east. He wandered about their destination, unaware of any prisons in the east of the state. Chewing his lip he watched the farms along the highway, staring at horses and cows, tractors and occasionally people. Every turn of the wheel carried him further from his home, from Michelle and his parents. He wandered when they would even be notified of his destination.

_Mom and papa are gonna cry again. You're not bringing them much joy, Almeida!_

The bus raced along the highway, following its original heading. A niggling thought entered his head, growing as they progressed. _We're leaving California! _

'Where the hell's lunch?' demanded an Aryan Brother, supported immediately by his entire group.

'Alright, you scum, listen up, listen real hard, coz I'm only saying this once,' called a prison officer. 'You can't eat with hands chained…'

'Too bloody right,' snapped the persistent prisoner.

'So you're not being fed till we arrive.' A howl of protest erupted through the bus. 'I hear another sound I'll start taking names and there won't be dinner either.' He gave them all a meaningful look and settled back down. Tony gazed out of the window disinterestedly, noting the increasing dryness of his surroundings. Sometime during the afternoon they crossed into Nevada. He watched an entire sunset, enjoying the fiery red of the sky.

It was dark when they arrived, and a lot of prisoners had fallen asleep. Tony was half asleep too when he felt the bus leave the highway and turn onto a secondary road full of potholes. They followed it for several minutes before he glimpsed a bright light in the distance, focusing on it as it gradually took shape. A huge compound lay in front of them, surrounded by high walls and towers. Instinctively his hands moved to rub his face, pulled up short as they were held forcibly in place by the cuffs. The gates were opened and the bus moved inside slowly. He turned his head back to catch a final glimpse of the outside before the gate slammed shut.

Armed guards and dogs met them as they were led off the bus and stood in a queue. The dogs strained at their leashes and barked furiously at the exhausted prisoners. 'God I'm cramped,' Sanchez muttered. 'And I need to go…'

'Silence!' bellowed a block administrator, glaring at them. 'Move inside the block and strip! I find any contraband, that person gets the hole. Go now!' They stumbled inside, undressing the moment their chains were removed. A search was conducted individually, video taped by a guard. Tony's face burned as he was examined; using all his self control to cooperate.

'He's clean.'

'Alright, convict, into the shower,' snapped another guard and he entered the large bathroom in relief. He stood under the cold water attempting to relax, fighting down his desire to grab the video camera and haul it against the nearest wall together with the producer. Sanchez gave him a warning look as though reading his thoughts. He pressed a small piece of soap to Tony. He washed rapidly, not wishing to be ordered out soapy, aware his skin would itch all week if it happened.

'That's enough,' bellowed another guard. 'You're clean now! Out of the shower and dry yourselves off, and get your clothes.' They shared a handful of worn towels between them and stepped out of the bathroom naked. 'Over to that counter,' yelled a guard and they moved to stand in a queue while a junior prison clerk handed them various sized orange jumpsuits. Tony gazed at his pile disbelievingly.

_It's orange! I don't wear orange, not any kind of it, let alone such a fluorescent hue! Even Michelle wouldn't wear this. What the hell happened to the blue denims and blue shirt? _He felt a warning hand on his arm and turned to scowl at Sanchez_. I know, my friend, you're telling me to put them on and keep my mouth shut. I will, I will, just let me get over my dismay._

They dressed silently, staring at the jumpsuits. Tony pulled on a white t-shirt and socks before pulling the suit onto his legs, slipping his arms inside and reluctantly buttoning up the front. _Oh God, Michelle's gonna see me in this!_ He chewed his lip vigorously, imagining her amusement.

Sanchez almost smiled when he stared at Tony, who gazed disinterestedly at the ground. 'Amigo, orange suits you! Relax, look at the others.'

Tony looked up slowly, running his eyes over the group, noting how ridiculous they all appeared. Feeling slightly better he moved closer to his friend.

'Alright, convicts, listen up. The warden decided you're gonna be fed,' began the same officer. 'You're gonna take your tray to a table and settle down and eat EVERYTHING before you. I hear any bullshit, you got the hole. Move!'

Tony followed the others into a communal dining hall with white tables and bright orange chairs. A counter stood at one end and they lined up silently, grabbing a tray and carrying it to a table. Sanchez settled at a table towards the back and Tony placed his tray down opposite him, sighing quietly. 'Guess I'm a bit hungry,' he admitted.

'Me too,' Sanchez told him, swallowing a first mouthful. 'Yuck, some green shit.'

Tony examined his plate in amusement. 'It's cauliflower.'

'Whatever,' Sanchez said, groaning aloud. 'Look at this, mostly that green shit and a few bits of potato and some lamb.'

'Cauliflower is healthy,' Tony told him, cutting his up and eating it with his lamb. 'It contains lots of folic acid, as well as vitamin…'

'Spare me, amigo. You sound like my mom! Take mine, would you, I swear I haven't touched it.' He pushed his over to Tony's plate, nodding firmly as Tony asked whether he was sure. Somewhat guiltily Tony handed him two small pieces of potato and they ate hungrily. To his surprise he found his plastic cup contained milk rather than water. As soon as they were finished the door opened, admitting a handful of extra guards and a man in a warden's uniform.

'Welcome to Thorndale,' began the man. 'I'm Warden Jeffries, and I'm a fair man. You piss me off, you get the hole. You choose to behave; you can participate in a number of educational programs and get a radio. Thorndale is a little different from your pervious prison, we eat in a communal dining hall and you get to use the yard for two hours a day, before lunch. We're real crowded right now; you'll have to double bunk. Find someone to partner you and give your names to Mr. Abbot.' He turned and left.

'What does he mean, "double bunk",' Tony inquired. Sanchez sighed.

'It means there's too many cons for the cells, amigo. We get to share with someone.' He gazed at his empty plate.

Tony scratched his face vigorously. He had hated being imprisoned alone in a small cell, but at least he had been able to pace whenever he felt the need to do so. The thought of another person staring at him every waking moment was almost more than he could bear. He watched the other prisoners walk over to the warden's assistant, the Panthers together, the two Mexicans together, and the group of Aryan brothers together, the last group arguing among themselves as they had an odd number. 'I'm not going with no nigger nor spic,' one of them cried indignantly.

'Amigo, it's either him or me,' Sanchez said quietly. 'I'm sorry.'

Tony shook his head. 'You, of course, I won't have that nutcase near my stuff.' Sighing heavily he made his way over to the administrator, giving him their names.

'Alright, Almeida and Sanchez, you got D Block,' the man told them. He called a guard. 'Douglas, take these two and that lot,' he nodded at the Aryan Brothers and the Mexicans, 'to D Block.' They were placed in handcuffs and had their feet shackled and were led away by ten guards, out of the block and through a wide courtyard. Tony gazed at the illuminated walls, noting the reflection of the spotlights on the barbed wire, struggling with despair. He took the small half steps the shackles permitted him to take, gazing at the two guards on either side of him, one holding a stun baton to his chest. A two storey building loomed ahead of them, D BLOCK written in large letters on its front. They moved to the door and a guard opened it, escorting them through the double steel entrance.

Pale green tiles lined the floor, which was surrounded by cells on three sides. The ablution room lay on the fourth side, on top of which was the supervisor's office and guards' room. The Aryan brothers were led upstairs, and Tony and Sanchez were ordered to follow them. They were led to the second tier and halted while two Aryan brothers were locked inside a cell. The neighboring cell was unlocked and a guard turned to them. 'You two spics, inside.'

Tony's fists clenched as he followed Sanchez into the cell, a typical eight by ten room. Lime tiles lined the floor, the walls were grey painted brick, and a bunk bed lay along a wall. Opposite it lay the regulation basin and toilet, and a table was bolted into the ground in front of them, with two chairs. Two shelves lay along the wall near the bunk, one for each level. Rubbing his face he moved to the corner and sank down, burying his head in his hands.

He heard a chair scraped along the floor and Sanchez sat down, wordless.

'Hey, you two spics! Undress and pick a bunk and lie down by the time I count to ten, or the pair of you got the hole! One, two…'

Tony leapt to his feet before Sanchez, throwing off his jumpsuit and gazing at the bunk. 'Amigo, you take the top this week,' Sanchez said, settling rapidly on the bottom. Tony scrambled onto the top bed, pulling his sheet and blanket over himself, managing to stick his arms out as the guard reached 'ten'. 'Alright, that's better. I see either of you out of bed before the wake up siren, you got the hole. There won't be any warning. I hear either of you talking, you got the hole. I see either of you sit up, you got the hole. Got the picture?'

'Yes sir,' they echoed, and the guard left.

'God I hate these young kids,' Tony whispered. 'They don't seem to understand they can tell you nicely too. Where are the old guards?'

'They usually quit long before,' Sanchez answered softly. 'Buenas noches, amigo.'

'Buenas noches,' Tony replied, turning to face the wall. He gazed at his empty shelf, wandering when his things would be transferred. He missed his letters, longing to hold them in his arms as he fell asleep. Carefully he pulled Michelle's picture from his vest, kissing it. 'Goodnight, sweetheart,' he whispered so softly Sanchez barely heard him, placing the photo under the blanket. He pressed his eyes shut, longing for sleep.

It eluded him completely. Within minutes his weariness vanished, and he tossed and turned, hearing Sanchez snore. He longed to pace the cell, but didn't dare, examining the bed instead. It appeared to be made of cast iron, with a foam mattress thrown over the top. His fingers felt along the edge of the mattress, finding a ring at the edge of the bed. Puzzled he rolled onto his stomach, pushing the mattress a little further down. An iron ring was welded onto the top left hand side of the bed. Frowning thoughtfully he examined the right hand side, noticing an identical ring. Once the guard patrolled the tier he sat up rapidly, crawling to the foot of his bed, discovering two more rings. He lay down hurriedly, pulling the blanket over himself.

_Oh God, I know what they're for. A prisoner can be lain down and shackled to the bed, arms and legs stretched out_. He shut his eyes, praying he would never experience it firsthand.


	22. Chapter Twenty Two: Thorndale

Footsteps of the patrolling guard woke Tony before the siren. He lay silently under his blanket, gazing round the cell. Nothing stirred in the dimness. Slowly he rolled onto his stomach, laying his head on a hand. He wandered dully what time it could be. It was easy to lose track of the passage of time locked inside a cell without a window. He supposed it hardly mattered – he would be able to remember a little of his home before the siren would intrude, pulling him back into his nightmare. He pressed his eyes shut, picturing them round the breakfast table.

"_Marco, don't even think of putting sugar into your milk! Rita, you'll eat that. Tony, where are you? Hurry up, we'll be late. Janey, what's wrong? Why are you crying?"_

_Jane sniffed louder, insisting she wasn't going to school that morning. Their mother sighed, ordering her to behave and eat her breakfast. Tony watched her turn her plate of cereal upside down, spilling the whole lot on the table. 'Wow, she might even get a smack this time. It's flowing onto Papa's trousers,' he observed, highly amused._

_Mr. Almeida leapt to his feet, bringing a cloth from the sink. "What's wrong, princess?" he asked kindly._

"_I wanna go to the zoo!"_

"_Can't we do that on Saturday? I got to finish this plan by tomorrow; I'm kinda running behind as it is?"_

"_No no no. I wanna go now. You always said there's too many people on the weekend! I wanna go today!" Her sobs increased._

_Tony settled more cheerfully in his chair. No teacher would demand his unfinished homework that day, he could tell from his father's face. He was going to give in to his eldest daughter, just as he always did. He rolled his eyes at her, delighted to hear her sobs turn into screams._

"_Alright_ _honey, we'll go."_

A sob escaped from his throat before he was aware of it. He swallowed hard, groaning inwardly as he heard Sanchez stir.

'You ok, amigo?'

'Yeah,' he replied, a lot harsher than he intended. He heard Sanchez turn over and sighed. 'Sorry. I was thinking of home.'

'Why don't you tell me about it?' Sanchez whispered back. 'I never met anyone like you. Were your parents cops?'

Tony choked back a laugh. 'Hell no. They weren't too fond of 'cops', to tell you the truth. My father was the recipient of too many speeding tickets for that. No, my mom is a nurse. She loves kids; she works on the children's oncology ward. She just sits with the really sick ones and tells them stories. She worked at night, when my father was home with us.'

'What does he do?' Sanchez persisted.

Tony rolled onto his back, rested his head on his hands and gazed at the grey ceiling. 'He's an architect. He designs office blocks mainly. When mom went back to work he would work from home in the mornings and keep an eye on the really little ones, so she could get some sleep. He just managed to concentrate on his designs and fetch things for the babies at the same time. He never lost his tempter, never got mad at us, never yelled, except once…'

'How many of you were there?' Sanchez asked softly.

'Nine. One of my sisters died at birth and my brother…' He paused, swallowing hard. 'There's nine,' he repeated firmly, falling silent.

A guard walked outside, glancing inside, satisfied to see two sleeping prisoners. The silence stretched after his footsteps died away. 'My dad pissed off when I was six,' Sanchez said softly. 'Don't know where he went, but it must've been better than home, coz we never heard from him again. Mom worked real hard to pay the rent; she raised me and three sisters.'

'I'm sorry,' Tony said softly, unable to imagine his father leaving.

'Don't be. I had many friends, Rodriguez and the others. I started earning cash keeping an eye out for expensive cars when I was ten. By the time I was fifteen I stole my first one. Guess I'll get back to it, next year.'

'What the hell do you mean,' snapped Tony. 'You're not considering going back to that, are you? They'll watch you real close; they'll arrest you again, for a lot longer this time. You can't wanna come back here!'

Sanchez shrugged. 'What else am I gonna do outside? I got to live from something. Can you see me mopping the floor in some shopping mall?'

'No,' Tony said, sorry for his friend. 'What about a family? You got anyone waiting for you?'

'I had a wife and a daughter, but she moved in with someone else two years after I got send down. Don't know what she's doing now.'

'So why don't you write her a letter?' Tony asked. 'Hell, Sanchez, she's probably dumped the guy ages ago, she'll be waiting for you now.'

Sanchez laughed aloud. 'I wouldn't know what to write.'

'I'll help you,' Tony promised. 'At least give it a go. You never finished school, did you?'

'Are you kidding? I dropped out in the eighth grade,' Sanchez admitted.

'So take this chance and finish school while you're here. It'll keep you occupied, and it'll help you when you get out.'

He heard Sanchez snort indignantly. 'What the for? You think anyone's gonna hire an ex-con?'

The siren wailed loudly, echoing through the block. Tony climbed down, pulling on his jumpsuit and shoes. 'I'll think of something. Wait a minute,' he exclaimed, sitting on the chair with a shoe in his hand. 'I got it. You know lots about cars, right? You'll work with them!'

Sanchez laughed aloud. 'Amigo, you're nuts. You don't seriously imagine I'd get a job selling them, or anything?'

Tony shook his head. 'No. You can earn lots more by starting your own business. You know how many people buy used cars, and wanna know if they're ok or not? Advertise in the paper that you're an ex car thief and will check it out for them for fifty dollars.'

He turned to stare at his cell mate, noting Sanchez regarding him unblinking. 'I'm listening,' he said intrigued. 'You think people will want me to check it out?'

'Sure,' Tony agreed. 'Which mechanic would give an honest opinion, and even if they would, you know more. You need to know how much it's worth and whether it would go, coz if you get it wrong, you end up in here.'

'Amigo, you're something else! But I couldn't write an ad…'

Tony pulled his other shoe on. 'I'll write it for you. It's got to be amusing. I'll do it as soon as they'll give us some paper.' He fell silent, gazing at the bars. _You've sunk to the bottom, Almeida! Waiting for someone to be kind enough to give you some paper!_ He wandered over to the bars, placing his face against them. His eyes roamed over the opposite tier, watching a few prisoners began their day. Bright orange caught his eyes wherever he looked. He raised a hand to rub them, yawning.

A loud commotion distracted him from his mental calculation of how many prisoners could occupy D Block. The Aryan brothers were busy insulting a pair of rough prisoners in the cell to their right. Tony wandered why they got no answer. Footsteps sounded down the tier and a guard slammed his night stick against his cell. 'Convict, step away from the bars! Read the rules, convicts shall remain at least one foot from the bars whenever a corrections officer is approaching. If I have to remind you of that a second time, you'll get a D-report!' He waited till Tony took two steps back before continuing on to the next cell, yelling about disturbances and threatening D-reports. He turned and left, and Tony slammed his fist into the wall, wincing. Fighting rage, he paced the cell while Sanchez sat on the lower bunk, watching him. After a while Sanchez rose and moved to the chair. Tony pressed his face against the bars, chewing his lips.

The cell seemed to shrink, trapping him. He placed his hands on the bars, willing them to be unlocked. Pressing his eyes shut he wished himself away.

"_Tony, oh my God, there you are!" His mother swept him into her arms, crying. "We looked everywhere! How did you get lost?"_

_He shook his head. "I just stopped to look at those dinosaurs." He had been really impressed with them in the window of the toy shop, pausing to admire them for an instant before he noticed he was alone, on a busy street surrounded by strangers. Despite racing in the direction his family had taken he was unable to catch sight of any of them. He had waited for a while but no one had returned for him. He had decided it would be best to find his way back to where the car had been parked. Fortunately he had an excellent sense of direction and a good memory and had found the car park and located their car, settling in its shade to await his family._

"_So Tony, how did you like your first time alone in Mexico City?" teased his grandfather, hugging him tightly when his mother finally relinquished him. "Your parents were hysterical. I told you he'd be fine, Rita," he said, smiling gently at Tony's mother. "Now we just got to find your father!"_

The cell shrank another couple of feet. Tony stumbled back to his corner, leaning against the wall with folded arms.

"_Papa, my hand hurts." He held out a bleeding hand to his father, who leapt up from his drawing board._

"_Oh God, Tony, let's wash that. What did you do?"_

"_I fell off the gate," he admitted quietly, perfectly aware he had been told countless times to quit swinging on it. "The top fell off."_

_Mr. Almeida sighed heavily. "I wish your mom would be here, she's better at this than me. Oh, you've got a large splinter in there, quite deep. You might need to see a doctor."_

_Tony's face paled. "No. Papa, please take it out, I'll be ok."_

"_Sweetie, its real deep. You'll have to be brave." He went to fetch a needle and tweezers, settling Tony on his lap. "Ready?"_

"_Yeah," he answered, terrified. He pressed his eyes shut, feeling the needle scraping away the surrounding skin, bearing it as long as he could._

"_Wait a sec," his father said, giving him a short respite. "This part will hurt a bit. Open your mouth." He did as he was told, feeling a piece of chocolate. "You'll get the rest when this is out. You ready?"_

The cell shrank again, all three walls pressing against him, crushing the life from him, the bars preventing his escape. He sank onto the ground, resting his head on his lap, unable to rise.

'Convicts stand your gates,' ordered a voice. Tony found himself hauled to his feet by Sanchez, and dragged to the door. All of a sudden the doors slid open and all the prisoners stepped outside, lining up silently. Rooted to the spot, he felt Sanchez pull him outside and push him into the queue, giving him a final shake. 'Alright, row six,' called a guard and the row began moving along the catwalk, down the stairs and across the floor. Tony followed the man in front of him, his legs moving automatically, his brain struggling with his panic. They entered the dining room and and lined up at the counter, taking a tray and moving to a table. He took one automatically and paused, searching the crowded area.

'Amigo, near the back, there's two seats,' Sanchez told him, leading the way. They settled, Tony sitting near the edge, aware his friend was giving him another minute to pull himself together. He sipped a cup of tea slowly, wishing it were coffee before starting his inevitable bowl of porridge. Something about the bowl before him was different to the bowls he'd received in the first prison. He blinked, examining it. Of course, it was twice the size. Pulling his nose slightly, he peered into it, dismayed to find there was twice the amount inside too. Where was his toast? His eyes searched his tray, finding nothing besides half an orange. No one seated at the table had any toast either, as far as he could tell. Reluctantly he dipped his spoon into his porridge, swallowing with a grimace. Once he finished half he put his spoon on the tray, gazing around.

'Hey dude,' a black man seated at the table opposite him exclaimed, pointing a finger at him. Tony gazed at him puzzled. The man pointed a finger at him. 'You're not leaving that, are you? Block supervisor sees anything left on that plate, you'll get chained to your bed for twenty four hours.'

Tony stared at him in dismay. 'Are you serious?' he asked, wishing there was a bin nearby he could tip his food into.

'Sure I'm sure. Why would I be telling you lies, man? Mr. Lee's a real religious guy, he says God provides and we scum shouldn't waste that. He don't abide waste. That's Mr. Lee now, he's come to give you new guys your welcome speech and your paperwork.' He fell silent, together with the entire dining hall.

'Alright, convicts, you've got yard time, with the exception of the group who arrived yesterday. You may return your trays and leave the area.' Everyone replaced their trays at the counter, and Tony watched the majority of the men leave the room, returning to the main floor. 'Yesterday's arrivals, come sit at this table over here.' They obeyed, Tony and Sanchez forming a barrier between some bikers and the Aryan Brothers. The Mexican gangsters sat opposite, passing disgusted looks all around the table. Tony rubbed his face, remembering meetings at CTU or Division where they'd sat round tables, swallowing a sigh.

'Let me begin by introducing myself. I'm Block Supervisor Lee, and I'll be responsible for you in day to day matters. I can have you shackled to your bed for twenty four hours in a row; I can send you to A-seg. I get to sign every D-report you'll get, and if you behave, I'll get to hand out a few privileges.' He glanced at a list of notes. 'Convict Almeida, stand up.'

Tony stood up hesitantly, wandering what was coming. 'Look out of that window. Do you see a roof behind that fence?'

'Yes sir,' Tony replied, mystified.

'That's H Block. Only a few get to go there, and none leave, except in a box, if you get what I mean. Set any part of your foot outside D Block except under escort, you'll find yourself there. Our chair hasn't worked for years, so we just hang em. Sit down.'

Face burning with humiliation, Tony sat back on his chair, noting the interest of the entire group. 'What are you guys staring at? You can join him, if you wish. Now I've got a couple of forms for you to fill out, do so neatly in block letters. Your number's near the top, next to your name, memorize it.'

The supervisor left while they all filled out basic biographical details, including charge and length of sentence. Tony swallowed, noting his neighbor write 'murder first degree' on his form. He gripped his pen tightly, unable to answer the next question, continuing the remainder of the form instead.

'Convict Almeida, you left your 'charge' blank,' snapped the supervisor, returning half an hour later. 'Fill it out immediately. You've got a minute to finish.' He gave Tony a hard look, remaining while he wrote TREASON on the form. 'That's better.' He took the form while Tony wiped the sweat from his forehead.

'Now you scum are extremely fortunate we have an educational program in this prison. Those of you who failed to complete high school will do so, that's everyone here. You, Almeida, have an impressive education, you may choose a course. I want something filled out on this form in the next ten minutes.'

Tony twirled his pen around, wandering what to pick. Entire afternoons incarcerated in his tiny cell with Sanchez would indeed be livened up if he had something other than reading to occupy himself with. If only he could choose several subjects, he thought regretfully, finding it hard to select one. His first choice would naturally be computing, but he was aware part of his sentence stipulated that he would never be permitted access to another one. After a few minutes silent deliberation he wrote ARABIC on the form, to Sanchez's amazement.

'Why, amigo?' he questioned, as they handed in their forms and left the room.

'It would help with my work. I'm gonna find everyone responsible for killing my brother, I'm gonna hunt them down, and I'm gonna make sure they pay for it,' he hissed. Sanchez nodded soberly.


	23. Chapter Twenty Three: Unexpected Visitor

The yard resembled the previous prison's yard so closely he could have been fooled into thinking he was in the same place, except the buildings were of limestone rather than red brick. A rusting basketball ring stood near a corner missing a net, and a crowd of prisoners played in two teams.

One of the Mexican gangsters gave a cry of recognition and they joined a group, while the bikers moved to join some fellow riders. The Aryan brothers moved to disrupt a group of sullen smokers, leaving the two of them standing alone.

'I was kinda looking for Rodriguez,' Sanchez admitted.

Tony nodded. 'Me too. The place looks real similar.'

'There's no one here,' Sanchez told him regretfully.

Tony snorted. 'The place is full. What about that group of Mexicans? You could go talk to them.'

Sanchez shook his head rapidly. 'They're mafia, stay clear of them.'

Tony leaned against a wall, enjoying the sunshine on his face, struggling to control his overwhelming depression. The longing to return home was almost more than he could bear, any second and he would sink to the ground and sob. _Focus, Almeida! So you're in another prison, so it's a dump too, well, you didn't really expect any better. You got one person to talk to. Count yourself lucky you don't know anyone here. Just walk round the yard and relax._

'Tony Almeida?' asked a voice and he looked up, startled to see a familiar face.

'Colin, what are you doing here?' he exclaimed, amazed yet again at the twist of fate, reuniting him with a former CTU employee sent down by Jack years ago for taking bribes. 'I'd have thought your sentence would've been over by now.'

The man opposite him nodded bitterly. 'I have another six months to serve. Then I'm "free".'

Tony shook his head. 'Why are you here in a maximum security place? Surely minimum would've been fine.'

Colin sighed. 'How long have you been inside? Not long enough, I guess. I started my sentence there, but I had a little trouble, and I killed someone, so I'm here now. What about you, I heard all kinds of odd rumors.'

'They're probably all true,' he answered bitterly. 'You don't wanna talk to me, Colin, you'll be out soon. You've got a wife and kids.'

'I've got a wife and kids who never wanna see me again,' Colin told him bitterly. He wandered away without a backward glance at Tony, leaving him standing alone in the yard.

A guard approached him, heading straight across the courtyard to him. 'Convict Almeida?' he questioned. Tony nodded. 'You've got a visitor! Mr. Lee says you can go to the administration block now.'

Tony gazed at him in utter amazement, wandering who could have come to visit him this soon. He followed the guard across the hall and was ordered to halt, while his hands were cuffed behind him, and his feet were shackled. Two guards walked beside him, one holding the stun baton they seemed to use every time a prisoner was being transported somewhere over here_. Sure hope his finger isn't going to get itchy. That thing would really hurt._

The visitors' area was at one end of the administration block. He entered a similar looking room to the previous visitors' room, led over to a table and ordered to sit. Even as he moved to comply he gasped aloud, gazing at Michelle through the glass. They both watched the guard securing his leg to the chair and removing his handcuffs.

'Hi Tony,' Michelle began hesitantly, examining his face for a reaction. 'You look a bit different,' she concluded in a rush.

Tony shrugged. 'Yeah, I guess it's the orange.' He fell silent, studying her face. He hadn't seen her for six months, being unable to receive anyone for the first four months. 'How was New York?' he asked finally, knowing he had to say something. His thoughts whirled around, alternating between joy at seeing her again and despair that she had to see him like this.

'It was ok, I guess. The course was long and real detailed; I hope I'll remember it all.' She gave him a shy smile. 'Your father told me they could visit you six weeks ago after you helped Hammond. That was just two days after I left.'

He nodded, studying her carefully. A curl hung loose from her pony tail again, his fingers instinctively reached forward to tuck it behind her ear, brushing the glass. He chewed his lip in frustration. 'I' he began, falling silent again.

Michelle rested her head against the glass, seeking to move as close to him as she could. 'I really miss you, honey. It's so dark when I get home, so very quiet.' They gazed at each other. 'Your mom's real nice; she keeps bringing lots of food. I don't know why they don't hate me,' she ended.

Tony looked startled. 'Why would they do that, sweetheart? You haven't done anything wrong.'

'You're here because of me,' she said in a rush, wiping a tear from her face. 'They should hate me! And while you're locked up here I got a promotion, it's not fair.'

'Sure it is,' he said, longing to hug her. 'You did great that day, and every other day too. You deserve your promotion. I chose to let CTU down – I deserve what I got.'

Michelle shook her head, wiping more tears from her eyes. 'No you don't. You can't believe it, either, Tony, don't tell me you do. You done a fantastic job all these years and it was barely mentioned.' She ran her hand angrily along her face, wiping away more tears.

Tony swallowed, managing a smile for her sake. 'Honey, I'm ok, I've kind of settled down.'

'Stop lying to me, sweetheart, I can see you hate being here,' Michelle told him, struggling to keep her voice even. 'I saw the look in your eyes when they shackled your leg to that chair.' She rubbed her eyes furiously.

'It takes a little getting used to,' he admitted. 'It's real humiliating in front of relatives, but it'll get easier, I guess. Sweetheart…'

'Just a minute, Tony,' she interrupted him. 'You don't have to get used to it. I'm bothering Jack everyday, and he's bothering the president, and…'

'Honey, we've been down that road,' Tony told her softly, shaking his head. 'If he wanted to pardon me, he would've done so before the trial. Leave Jack alone, he's got stuff he needs to get over too. Let's face it, I'm stuck here.' He gazed at her, seeing her shake her head vigorously. 'Sweetheart, listen to me,' he begged. 'I can't have you waste your life coming out here to see me. You shouldn't have to, anyway. You're so young, you need someone to come home to, someone to talk to in the evenings, someone to go out with.' He held up a hand as she attempted to interrupt him. 'I'm not done yet, Michelle. Honey, I love you more than life itself, but it would wrong of me to keep you like this. When did you go out last? Tell me that, ok? It was with me, I know it! It's been six months now, sweetheart. How much longer are you gonna sit home by yourself?'

'Until they release you,' Michelle told him firmly.

Tony sighed, rubbing his face. 'Sweetheart, you're not thinking clearly. You're not seriously contemplating wasting your entire life waiting for me? That's not what I wanted! I wanted you to live, to be happy.' He gazed at her pleadingly. 'I don't want you to grow old and hate me suddenly. File for divorce, it's the only thing to do. I know you'll still love me, and you can maybe still write me sometimes…' He turned away, blinking hard. 'Don't come here again, Michelle.'

'I'll come as often as I like,' Michelle exclaimed loudly, her face turning red. 'You're not gonna shut me out, Tony! I know you're living through hell in here. I got your files, I read them! I know they stuck you in a cage, that you tried to escape and were caught, that they locked you in a box, that you can't try again or… I know all that. If you think I'm gonna abandon you, you're wrong. As long as you behave yourself you get two visits a month here, your parents want one, so I'll come once a month, and you better get used to the idea.' She glared at him through the glass.

He shook his head, chewing his lip, ignoring his aching heart. 'Honey, listen to me! I'm here for the rest of my life! I'm never coming home. Think about this, what if I don't get the pardon you're waiting for? What then? We wanted kids, remember, a boy and a girl. Who's gonna call you mommy then?'

Michelle wiped her eyes furiously. 'Our kids will!'

'How?' he demanded harshly, startled at the vehemence in his own voice. He hadn't realized how much he longed to have a family with her until after his arrest.

Michelle shrugged. 'You'll have to donate… You know. Anything can be done. I'm not having kids with anyone except you, Tony. We were going to have a little boy like you, remember?'

He nodded, rubbing a hand across his eyes. 'Yeah, I do. And who's gonna be there to help you when he wakes you up for the tenth time in the same night, every night for twelve months or more? You don't realize what a lot of work babies can be, they take TWO parents, and wear both out, believe me! And who's gonna look after them, anyway? You'll have to work to support them.'

'Your parents will help,' she said firmly, and he knew she was right; his parents would help as long as they could move. 'I've made up my mind, Tony. But it won't be like that, they'll release you!'

He laughed bitterly.

'They will, Tony, they'll have to. I need you home. Why won't you even try and hope too?'

'Coz it would drive me nuts,' he snapped, dropping his gaze. 'How do you think I get through every day? I think about home every night, and I force myself to stop during the day, or I'll go mad. I take every minute as it comes; I got no plans for tomorrow. It's the only way I can take it.'

Michelle touched the glass above his face, pulling her hand along it. 'That's all the more reason for me to come visit you, sweetheart,' she said through her tears. 'I won't abandon you Tony, I can't.'

A minute passed in silence as each pretended not to watch the other, gauging the other's determination. Tony could tell Michelle was upset, she missed him and she clearly still adored him. She had her usual quiet stubborn expression – she wasn't about to back down any time in the near future. He sighed quietly; sure he was right about her seeking another life, and dreading her in fact doing so. She studied his face carefully through the glass, seeing his sigh.

'Ok,' he agreed reluctantly. 'Come visit me for a while then, though it sure won't do your career any good! But you got to promise me a coupla things.' She nodded, watching him. 'One, if you're real tired after work, don't even think of driving out all this way. I WON'T have you get involved in an accident because of me! Two, if you meet someone, just send me a note to let me know, don't feel you need to come and explain. It would save us both.' He stared at her carefully, relieved to see her nod.

'Ok, but I WON'T meet anyone, I don't want to! Tony, I can take care of myself, you know.' He nodded. 'I went to have dinner at July's place yesterday, remember where you fed her cat all your fish?' They grinned at each other. Tony relaxed slightly, determined to keep the rest of the visit light.

'I do.'

'That was only one of the most expensive fish on the market,' she said, amused.

'The cat didn't seem to have any complaints,' he agreed, smiling at her. 'What else have you been up to?'

'I've made a start on the garden,' she said firmly, while his eyes widened.

'Michelle, you kept the house? How could you, the bank recalled the entire loan?'

'I told them about my promotion, so they gave me another loan, to my name only,' she said, flinching slightly. She'd been through a battle with the bank, he could tell, and she'd won!

'Honey, you're incredible,' he said, genuinely impressed. 'But do you really need such a large place?'

Michelle bit her lip, looking him in the eye, and he sighed, aware the light mood had just disappeared again. 'It's our home, Tony, it took us long enough to find, remember. And I've made a start on the kids' rooms.' She stared at him defiantly while he shifted in his chair behind the glass barrier. 'After all, you're not supposed to paint when you're pregnant.'

He nodded.

'What about you, sweetheart? Who do you talk to? What do you do all day? Why did they take you to administrative segregation?'

Tony rubbed his face, determined not to upset her. 'Sweetheart, you shouldn't get my file again, it's classified for a reason. You only get to read one side of events in there. Let me see, who do I talk to…In the other place I met a group of car thieves…' He heard her peal of laughter and laughed with her, glad the mood was lighter. 'I kept hearing tales of fabulous thefts, police chases, that type of thing. I also had a good neighbor, he was a safe breaker, robbed several banks. All the letters I wrote to you were on paper he lent me, the pen too, and the envelopes. I only know one person here yet.'

'And what do you do all day?' she persisted.

He shrugged. 'I read. Sometimes they give me interesting books. I try to exercise. I write letters home. This place is a bit better; I'll get to study something. How's mom?' he interrupted himself.

Michelle looked sad. 'She's broken, Tony, and so is your father. They go through all the motions of living, but they're hurting. You can tell they'd really long to just hide away from everyone for a while. They buried Bobby last week. Everyone was there, Marco flew back from the Gulf and Joey was there too. They buried him in a war cemetery. Your parents were upset, they wanted him buried close by, so they could visit him easily, but the Navy had other plans, and he was killed on active duty. Your grandmother came too.'

Tony gasped aloud. 'Oh God, she didn't! Tell me she didn't stay with them,' he begged, struggling to contain his tears at the thought of his brother being buried.

'No, Anna had her stay for a week. She's absolutely unimpressed with her methods of raising the baby.'

They grinned at each other again, Tony nodding. 'Yeah, that figures. Did she say anything about me?' he questioned, wishing he hadn't asked the moment he saw her face.

'Yes she did, after the funeral. She said she always told you nothing good would come if you married me. Then your father said it's not my fault, and she said you're in prison for saving me, aren't you, and I started to cry, and then she said it's ok, you never listened to anyone, you would've ended up here anyway!'

'She was always real impressed with me,' Tony agreed wryly.

'And then she said she's surprised Marco's not here too, and your mom got mad, so she went to annoy some of the guests.'

'Will you go to visit them after this?' he asked, hoping she'd agree.

'Of course. I called them and told them I'm coming, and that I'd tell them all about it afterwards. They've got all your letters in a box on top of the fireplace, they keep reading them.'

Tony groaned aloud. It was tough wandering around a dusty yard and being insulted by prisoners and guards alike, terrible to contemplate living the remainder of his life in such conditions, but harder still was the thought of his parents and Michelle suffering outside.

A guard appeared beside Tony, pointing silently to the phone. 'Sweetheart, I got to go,' he told her, struggling to keep his voice even. Michelle looked as though her favorite possession had been ripped from her, holding the phone to her ear and shaking her head. 'I'll write you this afternoon,' he promised, noting worriedly that she still hadn't moved. 'Honey, I love you. I'll see you next month. Take care, ok?'

Michelle nodded, watching while his leg was unlocked from the chair and shackled to his other leg. The guard frowned and pointed at the phone which he still held. 'Bye, Tony. I really love you too. I've got to go to another course next week, to Washington this time, but I'll be here by next month. I'll write to you too.'

The guard removed the phone from his hand, slamming it back in its holder and pushing him to get him moving. He stumbled over to the door, turning his head as the guard ran his access card through the slot. Michelle had moved a few steps from the booth, walking steadily out; unable to turn and watch him led away. A surge of emotion swept through him, rising from the pit of his stomach, and it took all his training to remain silent.

_Michelle, come back! Stay a bit longer, please. Don't leave me here – you're right, I hate being here! I WANNA GO HOME!_

_Easy, Almeida! Easy_, he ordered himself, steadying his breathing. _You put yourself here. You done wrong, you let everyone down. Ok, so maybe the term 'traitor' is a little harsh, but you're a useless agent, that's for sure. You deserve this._

His fists remained clenched all the way back to his cell.


	24. Chapter Twenty Four: Forced Labor

'Watch out, fed, there's a whole army of guards,' Sanchez warned as Tony idly bounced an old basketball around the yard. 'They've got cuffs, they mean business. You better stay real quiet.'

Tony gave the ball a vicious bounce. 'Oh, I will, don't you worry!' The two weeks since Michelle's visit had been among the hardest he had spent in prison. He saw her face wherever he turned, heard her voice, felt her tears. The previous two nights had been spent awake, replaying their conversation ceaselessly, listening to her words and watching her expression. His headache threatened to turn into a migraine if he continued in such despair, yet he was unable to relax.

One of the guards pulled a whistle from his pocket and blew into it shrilly. Tony noticed every prisoner leave their groups and run to form several neat straight lines. _Like drill in the army, except we're missing our rifles._ He felt Sanchez's hand on his arm, pulling him into the back row. Part of him was grateful, while the rest of him longed to remain in the center of the yard with his ball, showing his defiance.

'Alright, you scum, there's two jobs available for you.' Supervisor Lee glanced round at the silent ranks.

'Gee, I guess I forgot to hand in my application!' Tony said sarcastically. Beside him Sanchez let out a faint groan, while the rest of the prisoners snickered.

The supervisor moved towards him. 'Convict Almeida, you've just volunteered! Step forward.'

Tony shook his head. 'You've got it all wrong - sir,' pausing before the final word to turn it into an insult. 'I don't volunteer for anything!'

Supervisor Lee looked at him in disgust. 'You sure did, unless you want two months in the SHU.'

Tony chewed his lip, longing to flatten the man's nose against his face. _You ready to return to the SHU, Almeida? No way. Better let them humiliate you today, you'll get to enjoy some yard time tomorrow and talk to Sanchez. _Slowly he stepped forward.

'That's better,' said the block supervisor. 'I always love to see the spirit of volunteering in my block. Now you'll get to go behind the kitchen block and scrub out the trash cans!' He glanced carefully at Tony to see whether he would refuse to cooperate.

'Gee, that's a job I can't refuse!' Tony remarked sarcastically, seething inside. A ripple of laughter sounded through the ranks.

'I'm warning you, Convict Almeida, any more lip from you, you'll spend a week in A-Seg after you're done,' warned the supervisor. 'Now you'll need a partner today. You' – he pointed at a rough looking Mexican, 'will join him, Fernandez.'

Another murmur ran through the ranks as he glanced at the supervisor. A cool looking Mexican said something, and he stepped reluctantly beside Tony. 'Alright, you bandits, hands behind your backs!' ordered the supervisor, watching them being cuffed. 'They're ready to go. I'm warning you, the kitchen supervisor will check your work, and if he's not satisfied, you'll find yourselves on such reduced rations a bird would be feel hungry. Now move!' he snapped.

Tony turned, searching the crowd of inmates for his 'friend'. 'Yeah, I guess he really is my friend now,' he thought, surprised. 'Sanchez, watch my ball, would you?' he called, seeing him nod. He looked about to say something else, another useful warning no doubt, but a guard turned Tony away.

They were led through the yard and into the neighboring block, through that and across another courtyard where the presence of flowerbeds indicated prisoners were never permitted. A smaller block lay to their left, a single storey building. Tony found himself sniffing the air hungrily, able to catch the scent of frying meat.

'Where the hell do you think you're going, Convict Almeida,' snapped a guard, turning him away from the kitchen entrance. 'You cons don't ever enter the kitchen, you can't be trusted there! You get to go round the back, to the garbage!'

Tony narrowed his eyes, shaking his head. _This place is even worse than boot camp! At least I got KP in the kitchen there; I could grab a little food when the mess sergeant left the place! You've sunk real low Almeida, right down to the bottom! _ Wordless, he followed the guard round the block and through a locked gate. The small yard was surrounded by a high stone fence with rolls of barbed wire at the top, in clear view of an armed guard on a tower. The floor was concrete, with bars along the kitchen's back door, preventing anyone working there entry inside. Two taps lay on either side of the door, a hose attached to each. A pile of rotting garbage cans lined a wall. A gust of wind wafted some of the smell over to Tony who gagged, burying his mouth in his shoulder. Judging by the stench, they couldn't have been cleaned for the past several months! His partner vomited on the ground.

'Alright you bandits, you've arrived. Now that half of the trash cans is for you, the other half for him,' a guard told them, pointing out the line. 'Stand still,' he snapped, removing Tony's handcuffs, and holding him while he shackled his feet and attached a chain to it, fastening the other end to a hook in the bricks. 'Just so long as you don't get any ideas of leaving us,' he smirked.

'Wouldn't dream of it,' Tony muttered darkly.

'Convict Almeida, anymore lip and you'll get a D-report, and you can say goodbye to any visit this month,' snapped an irritated guard. Tony fell silent, not daring to comment further. He wasn't even sure whether any of his relatives could make the 400 mile trip to see him, but he couldn't prevent himself from hoping. A part of him knew that one of them would show, wherever they transferred him.

One of the guards knocked on the kitchen door and another guard inside the building unlocked it and handed out two bottles of detergent, two brushes and two cloths. 'What about the gloves?' Tony found himself asking, unable to keep silent.

'You cons don't get issued with gloves,' a guard told him with a satisfied expression on his face. 'You don't need it – use your hands. A little work never hurt anyone, ah, Fernandez?' The Mexican remained silent, refusing to look at him. The guards glared at him, pointing to the pile of cans. 'Get started. The guard from the tower has you in full view, and the guard from the kitchen has you in full view at all times, don't try anything. Now let me warn you, the kitchen supervisor will come and inspect your work, and if he smells anything other than detergent, you'll get a D-report on the spot. Now move it!'

They remained while Tony and Fernandez carried a dozen cans over to their positions. Gritting his teeth Tony removed the first lid, gagging. He leaned over and spat on the ground, taking a deep breath before he laid it on its side and turned on the hose. The jet stream directed into the middle dislodged hundreds of floating pieces of rotting remains, which began flowing out, forming a puddle round his shoes. Tony gagged again; relieved breakfast had been over two hours ago, hoping he could manage to keep it inside. Taking another deep breath he turned the hose onto the puddle, washing it further into the yard, before directing it back inside the bin. More pieces poured out, forming a new puddle, sloshing into his shoes.

'Maldito sea!' he cursed, turning the bin a little further and moving away to a dry spot. Presently nothing further came out of the bin, no matter how hard he directed the water against the sides. Gritting his teeth and muttering oaths his father never heard, he poured detergent inside and reached for the brush. Shuddering in disgust he began scrubbing the edge, pausing to remove his top and throw it as far as it would fly. Moving any rotting mould from the bin required hard scrubbing and plenty of water and detergent, and he was soaked to the skin before a single side was cleaned. Soon after he began the second side of the bin his stomach heaved violently and his breakfast joined the slimy foul smelling puddle. He was too miserable to be able to feel sympathy for Fernandez who vomited a couple of feet from him on the other side of the door.

_This is your fault entirely, Almeida. Now I sure hope you learned your lesson about keeping your mouth SHUT! Did Sanchez get picked for this job? Did any of the others get picked? No! And why not? Because these semi-literate thugs got more sense than you'll ever have – they know when to keep silent!_

It seemed to take hours for the muck to be scrubbed from the bin. Tony was wet and exhausted by the time he felt it would pass inspection. He moved it aside, taking it as far as his chain would permit him to go, and turned it upside down to dry, pulling the next one out of the pile. Idly he counted how many trash cans remained. Counting the one he just pulled out, there were ten. He would be there all day at this rate! Grimly he moved to the tap, turning the hose on.

'Who are you expecting,' a voice asked him in Spanish, startling him out of his reverie. He glanced at Fernandez, who held the brush in his hand, still unable to reach inside the first bin.

'What do you mean?' he asked.

'I saw the way your face changed when they threatened your visit,' Fernandez told him. 'You must love her very much.'

'I do,' he agreed before he bit his tongue. He turned the hose on, spraying it savagely into the bin, sending water and rotting pieces flying out, covering himself with filth in the process.

'She hasn't left you yet, ah?' questioned Fernandez, giving him a knowing look. 'They almost all do in the end. Who are you expecting, her or your parents?'

'None of your bloody business,' snapped Tony, turning the hose on himself and washing off a little of the filth. _She'll leave me in the end, I know it. Don't think about that now Almeida, there's nothing you can do about it_. He pulled the bin around, enabling him to turn his back on the conversation. Grimly he set about dislodging the pieces with the brush, glad he had nothing more left in his stomach.

'Gonzales wants to talk to you,' Fernandez continued, not bothered by his having turned away. 'He'll see you in the yard tomorrow.' Tony ignored him, scrubbing hard with his brush. 'Just walk over to him, he's expecting you.'

Tony withdrew his head from the bin. 'He can expect anything he likes, it won't happen. He'll have to pick some other entertainment. I don't talk to anyone.'

'You do, if it's Gonzales that calls you,' Fernandez exclaimed.

'Look, I don't care if it's the warden himself that calls me, I don't talk to anyone,' Tony snapped, irritated. 'I can think of a hundred other ways of killing time than by chatting to illiterate thugs.' He put his head deep inside the bin, resuming his scrubbing.

'You don't quite understand, Almeida. Everyone goes to Gonzales if he calls them. Someone will kill you if you don't.'

'Someone is welcome to try,' Tony snapped, enraged. 'You might tell him to send five men if he wants any of them to get near me! Now leave me the hell alone.'

'You a military man?' Fernandez inquired.

'Sí,' Tony replied, resuming his scrubbing.

'And now you scrub trash cans.' The observation was made quietly, but it served to enrage him further. 'You don't learn respect for Gonzales; you'll end up buried in one too.'

'I told you to leave me alone,' he snarled, picking up a handful of rubbish and hauling it at the startled Fernandez.

'Almeida, you're gonna die,' hissed Fernandez, staring at his shirt in disgust. 'I'll kill you myself.'

'I'm terrified. Just leave me alone, idiot.'

'What did you call me?' cried Fernandez, furiously. He turned his hose full blast on Tony. 'I heard all about you. You're a bloody traitor, a federal agent gone over to some terrorista. You're worse than they are.'

Tony glared at him, unable to speak in his rage.

'Aguas,' he exclaimed suddenly and they both turned their hoses into their bins as the kitchen door opened and the supervisor stepped out. He stared at both of them in silence, gazing at the water on the ground and their soaked clothes.

'Against the wall, the pair of you!' he ordered, and they turned off their hoses and leaned against the wall. He examined the trash can Tony cleaned in silence. 'Alright, you spics, listen up. One clean can in fifty minutes isn't good enough – you're going to have to move it. I expect everything to be finished by 4:00 this afternoon or you'll be getting a D-report.'

'What's the deal about 4:00?' Tony inquired, too enraged at being insulted to care what happened anymore. 'Is the health inspector coming to check this dump? He won't be real impressed with your standard of hygiene. Hell, you might even end up fired!'

The supervisor took a step closer to him. 'Name, convict,' he demanded, pulling out a notebook.

Tony remained silent, taking a couple of deep breaths. _There goes your visit, Almeida! You just don't learn, do you? I'm so sorry, mom, I know you would've come – I wanted to see you so badly, so very badly…_

The supervisor took a step closer to him. 'I certainly won't ask a second time, convict,' he warned. 'Tell me now, or face a month in the SHU.'

Tony gazed at his wet shoes, remembering the SHU, knowing he could not face it a second time. Slowly he opened his mouth, raising his eyes to meet the supervisor's.

'His name's Fernandez, the bastard,' Fernandez said, startling Tony, who only barely managed to pull an impassive mask onto his face. He glanced at the Mexican, who shook his head rapidly.

'Ok, Fernandez, you got yourself a D-report. Reduced rations for three days and of course, no visit this month. Now listen up, the pair of you. All these garbage cans better shine by the time I inspect this yard at 4:00.' He left, returning through the kitchen door.

'Why?' Tony glanced at the Mexican who had returned to the trash can. 'You just called me a traitor.'

'You just called me illiterate,' said the man, leaning into his bin. 'You're wrong there, you know.'

Tony gazed at the filthy ground, feeling his face grow hot. 'I'm sorry, ok. I just don't like being bothered. I got enough trouble as it is.' He fell silent, watching the man working beside him. 'Why?' he asked again. 'You just lost a visit.'

Fernandez laughed aloud. 'You real sure about that? Hell, I've been here four years already, and I've yet to get a single visit! You enjoy yours, while you still got someone who cares enough to come see you.' He turned away bitterly.

'I won't …' Tony paused, chewing his tongue, almost having given away his secret desire to escape again.

Fernandez looked up at him interested. 'We all heard you got outside the Maximum Security place near LA,' he said. 'Not many get to do that. Gonzales wants to talk to you about it.'

Tony bit his lip, resisting the urge to run a hand along his face. _Why is everyone so impressed? I failed! I didn't get anywhere. Why do they keep reminding me, when I'm trying so hard to forget? _"You try anything like this again, Almeida, you'll fry! Read it for yourself."

He resumed scrubbing the trash can, working silently and methodically, allowing his thoughts to wander. Today was a Monday, which meant that his father was at work in the office, and his mother would vacuum the entire house, and she would pick little Sandy up from school and they'd go shopping together. Whoever was in LA at the moment would have dinner with them that evening. He didn't permit himself any thoughts about food, concentrating instead on the cheerful atmosphere after the dinner would be eaten, when everyone would chat about their previous week and their plans for the coming week. He swallowed his unshed tears, scrubbing the next can vigorously. Monday's were always extra difficult to spend in prison – he failed to keep himself from picturing his entire family together.

Only of course they would never be together again. He was stuck here, and Bobby was resting. He allowed water from the hose to squirt into his face, unable to hold back a few tears_. It should've been me, not him. My life is over, his was just getting started._

'You'll never finish that on time. Want to roll a can over? I'm done here,' he told Fernandez, who still had three untouched cans in his pile.

'Thanks, Almeida.' Another can was rolled noisily across the yard, and Tony cleaned it rapidly, without permitting himself to concentrate too heavily on his task. They finished a few minutes before 4:00, sitting in the shade by the wall, wet, filthy and exhausted. He leaned against it, allowing his eyes to close, an ear open for any movement, the way he had rested on patrols in the desert. He heard people moving about inside the kitchen preparing another meal, a group of convicts out in a distant yard, a couple of guards swearing at a prisoner they were obviously taking somewhere. Another sound interrupted the normal prison noise, something completely foreign to the harsh environment, a bird chirping. Tony opened his eyes, shading them with his hands, turning to the precise location the sound had come from, seeing a small grey bird perched on top of the kitchen roof.

He saw his mother carrying a chopping board out into the garden during a Chicago winter with pieces of bread and meat. "Throw it to the birds, Tony. Its real cold and they're hungry. Look, throw that piece to the crow over there, so then these little ones get to eat too."

He sighed heavily, feeling the familiar gnawing pain in his stomach, remembering that he had missed lunch yet again. 'Come on, tomorrow, hurry up. Please come mom, I want to see you real bad.'


	25. Chapter Twenty Five: Family Visit

Tony paced up and down in the cell, completely unable to occupy himself with his two books. He had woken long before the siren wailed and lay in the dim light, struggling to recall what he was excited about. Surely nothing remained in his life to look forward to anymore except…. A small grin moved the corners of his mouth, the only remainder of his smiles before his arrest. Today was his scheduled visit, and he had managed to avoid a D-report for the fortnight, so if anyone of his family could be bothered making the 400 mile trip to see him, he would get to see someone smile at him, hear someone ask how he was, feel someone's love reach him through the glass.

_Settle down, Almeida. It's a real long trip, there's a good chance no one will come. Marco and Joey aren't even in the country at the moment and Papa's working. Michelle's in Washington this entire week. That still leaves…Stop it now, Almeida! You'll feel real bad when they won't come. But someone MUST be coming, they promised! I know them, someone will come_.

His eyes moved to the rules stuck on the wall above the basin in a plastic folder.

"Rule 201 Convicts shall remain seated on their beds whenever the mail trolley enters their catwalk. They may retrieve their mail only after the trolley has moved three cells beyond their own."

He shook his head, sighing in frustration. How many years would it take him to accept all the hundreds of restrictions placed on his every movement? _Stop thinking about it now, Almeida! You're here for life, get used to it. If you piss them off they'll transfer you again, and so far that you won't ever get to see anyone again_.

He had spent the previous fortnight making notes on everything he recalled about Aziz, forcing his brain to recall all he had put into his computer He had drawn up several lists, Aziz's friends, his contacts, other groups he had been known to associate with, and their contacts. He had known there were inevitable gaps in his list, but it was the best he could do. Somewhere a pattern lay hidden, waiting for him to uncover. He had plenty of time to do so, but he was severely limited in resources. At the back of his mind was the urgent need to hurry, to prevent any further bloodshed. A clue came to him suddenly the previous night as he lay thinking over his lists, unable to sleep. His pattern was now complete!

He resumed his pacing. Tony rubbed his face and sighed again. It wasn't quite 7:00 o'clock, and visiting hours began at 10:00. Pressing his face against the bars he watched the other prisoners begin their day, writing mail, reading, playing games, passing notes between the cells. At least his reputation had preceded him, everyone aware he had been transferred for attempting to escape. So far no one had approached him looking for trouble, and he had kept as much to himself as possible, speaking only to Sanchez, who appeared as lonely as he was.

An hour later the mail trolley was pushed past. He watched it with his usual blank expression, forcing himself to remain calm. He had received a letter the day before from his father, and several the previous week, it was unlikely anyone would write again this soon. The trolley paused before his cell and a letter was laid in his slot. Once the trolley moved past he leapt up and reached trembling hands into the slot, picking it up. He pulled it out, recognizing the handwriting.

_Sweetheart_

_I got a position in Seattle, it'll last a couple of months. I can't tell you what it entails, but it's only temporary, I promise! I love you very much, I'll write to you everyday! _

_Michelle_

He swallowed, feeling tears prick his eyes. She had promised to come and visit him once a month and now he would be forced to wait three or four months to see her again. Chewing his lip he put her letter into his pocket and climbed onto his bunk, reading every word carefully. If he tried hard enough he could 'hear' her voice reading the letter to him. Depressed, he lay on his blanket, gazing at the ceiling. _How long do you imagine she'll come to visit you anyway, Almeida? It's no life for her, you know that._

He read the letter again before placing it in his growing pile. Time dragged. He lay on his bed gazing at the ceiling, counting the cracks directly above him. Breakfast passed in a blur and they were locked in their cells again, their yard time refused due to heavy rain.

'Convict, face the wall and put your hands behind your back,' snapped an irritated voice. Tony looked up startled, having fallen asleep staring upwards. He moved eagerly, hearing them entering his cell. Cold cuffs were placed on his arms and he was led outside and pushed into a queue in the middle of the floor. 'Any sound or movement in the queue, your visit is cancelled,' snapped a guard. He waited in utter silence with the others, not daring to move a muscle. _Someone came to see me! Someone came!_

They were read the usual list of rules pertaining to visitors and were led into the visiting chamber individually. Tony followed two guards inside, startled to see his sister Rita sitting opposite the glass. His right leg was shackled to the table and his cuffs were removed. Eagerly he reached for the phone, smiling at her.

'What are you doing here, Rita? Its miles away for you.'

Rita grinned back at him, obviously prepared for the sight of him in chains. 'I missed you. Marco and I drove out here to see you, he's home to see his kids for two weeks. Hell, Tony, you should see him driving! He just got in, made sure I had my belt on, and off we went, dodging cars and trucks.' She shook her head.

Tony found himself grinning more broadly. 'He's spent too long in the middle east. They're affecting him. Don't worry though, he's an excellent driver.'

'Yeah, but around halfway through I made him stop, and I drove the rest of the way,' Rita told him, shaking her head. 'I got real scared when he gave way to a massive truck, saying they had right of way, they're bigger than us, and then asked if we should run a motorbike off the road, we're bigger!'

Tony found himself laughing with her, genuinely amused. 'It's ok honey; he was just demonstrating how they drive over there. Still, I think he could do with being stationed at home for a while now.'

They stared at each other in silence, thinking of Bobby, both determined not to depress the other. 'I sure wish Bob would have made it,' she said softly. He nodded in silence. Rita pulled herself together first. 'Tony, do you need anything? We all sent you some money, you can get stuff from the shop, but is there anything else?'

He shook his head, moved. 'Rita, don't send anything. I'm not allowed to receive parcels for another six months. And tell everyone to stop sending money, I'll only be allowed to buy stuff next month, and I got plenty for toothpastes. Have fun with the kids.'

'What about all the money you leant for my doctorate?' she reminded him.

Tony shook his head. 'Keep it, it's a gift. Don't give it back whatever you do. Tell me about your students.'

Rita amused him with tales of teaching in college at San Francisco, and he soaked in every word, thrilled to hear about people leading normal lives. 'What about you, Tony, what have you been doing?' She eyed him carefully, searching for bruises. He felt relieved the majority were hidden by his clothes.

'Well, I got to spend all yesterday scrubbing garbage cans,' he told her, determined not to discuss the previous month in the SHU, and unable to speak about his escape. He saw her putting a hand across her mouth, half horrified and half amused. 'It's ok, Rita, you can laugh. There were fifteen of them for me, and they hadn't been cleaned for months, so I was kinda occupied.'

'God Tony, how could they make you do that? You're…'

'I'm just the same as the rest, honey, just a con,' he interrupted firmly.

She shook her head. 'Jack said…'

'You saw Jack?' he interrupted, startled. 'I thought he would've given up on me by now.'

'Well he won't. He said to tell you to hang in there and behave.'

Tony felt another grin tug the corners of his mouth. So he had one friend outside, apart from his family. 'Tell him I'm trying real hard,' he replied, exchanging a meaningful look with his sister.

'I will. Tony, I'm going to stay with mom this month, she's pretty devastated about Bobby. I've applied for a transfer to LA for Miguel too, so we can be closer.'

Tony looked startled. 'Won't he mind?'

Rita shook her head. 'He might not even notice,' she told him amused, 'as long as all his books are put in the same order on his shelves. I'll do that. Oh, we brought you a huge box of chocolates. It was real hard not to open them and eat a few on the way, but we managed not to.'

He shook his head regretfully. 'You should've. They'll never give it to me.'

'Sure they will. Marco gave it to the guard in the booth, and he made him promise it would get given to you in your cell.' She bit her tongue at the final word. Tony reached forward, touching the glass.

'I hope they will. Rita, don't worry, you can say 'your cell.' You should, it's my home now.'

Rita shook her head, standing up regretfully. 'I got to go now, Marco wanted half this visit.' They said their goodbyes and he closed his eyes briefly, composing himself for the sight of his brother.

His breath left him as he saw Marco enter the visitors' area, settle on a chair and pick up the phone, gazing through the glass at him. 'Hi Tony.' There was an awkward pause while they contemplated each other.

'Marco, it's been a while,' he began uncomfortably.

Marco shrugged. 'I just had a little disagreement with a guard about handing over some chocolate and a coupla books. The guard said the chocolate should be fine provided it got through the metal detector, but he did object slightly to the books. Anyway, they'll take them up to you later, or they better do – otherwise I'll have to come talk to them again!' He chewed his lips fiercely, his eyes moistening. 'God, Tony, how could they do this to you?'

Tony sighed heavily. 'They seem to have reached a unanimous decision to keep me here. I had it coming, Marco, I kinda knew there'd be trouble when I went to get her…I couldn't leave her. I saw her face…At least she's ok,' he finished.

Marco nodded. 'Yeah, I guess so. You didn't leave me either, when I got captured. Listen Tony, you remember the name of that horrible dog next door in Chicago?' Tony nodded puzzled. 'You should write to me sometimes, I'll come.'

_Write the name of the dog and I'll come help you out immediately_. Tony shook his head mildly.

'Remember Mr. Lamont at school – he always hated you. I saw him once heading for you directly across the quadrangle, and you saw him and grabbed your bag and hurried down a corridor, and he changed direction at once. I intercepted him,' Marco grinned slightly, 'asked some bullshit about the last lesson and you…'

_And I got away!_

'Sometimes the oddest things repeat themselves,' Marco continued, watching him carefully, his grey eyes never wavering.

_I can't let you do it, Marco! You'd lose everything you got, and become a wanted fugitive_.

'The divorce is settled,' Marco continued, ignoring his shaking head. 'I left her the house and the car, and I'll pay maintenance for the kids.'

'That house was half yours!' Tony exclaimed. 'She never worked a day in her life! Where do you live now?'

Marco shrugged, dismissing his concern. 'I live on the ship, of course. Neither of us would've had enough to buy a house with half the money. I wasn't going to be responsible for throwing my kids out of their home – it was the only thing I could do. I left them everything…'

_You're telling me you got nothing to lose, but it's not true, little brother. You got a good job and you had a great career till I ruined it. Hell, you really haven't got that much to lose thanks to me!_

'Marco, I'm real sorry,' Tony began softly. 'I deserve what I got, but you'll suffer too and…'

Marco interrupted him forcefully. 'I won't! I just made captain last year, I'm not due a promotion for ages, and no one knows anyway. I'll come…'

Tony leaned closer against the glass, determined not to allow his brother to ruin his life. 'Listen to me. You know why I got transferred.' He saw his brother's nod. 'I got another clause added to my sentence. If I repeat that action, I get the death penalty, without appeal. Look after mom and Papa instead; you're their eldest son now.'

Marco shook his head, leaning his elbows on the table. 'I'll do that, of course, but YOU'RE their eldest son – I'm not taking your place!' He glared at Tony, pausing to rub a hand rapidly across his eyes.

'I'll write to you,' Tony said gently. 'If you're sure you wanna receive mail from a federal prison. I got all yours too.'

'They'll pardon you, Tony,' Marco said finally, 'they got to. I want you to write to me, whatever happens. How could you even think I wouldn't?' He opened his mouth, interrupting what Tony began to say. 'No, you listen! I want you to, ok!'

Tony nodded, deeply moved_. This is the one relative apart from Michelle my actions have hurt the most, and he's here to support me! _ He nodded again, chewing his lip. 'Yeah, ok. What happened with Bob?' he asked much quieter, hating the need to ask but knowing he would find no peace till he had the details.

Marco buried his head in a hand. 'We were out on exercises,' he began eventually, just as Tony gave up all hope of getting an answer. 'Captain Melville did the best, as usual, he hit all the targets, he eliminated everything, and he finished first, while I was struggling with finding a submerged ship to aim at. He called me on the radio, laughing as usual. "I'm done, Almeida. See you back in the harbor. Try heading over to those reefs, there's bound to be something there." I laughed too, congratulating him, telling him the drinks were on him, and moved closer to the reefs. We heard a massive explosion soon after we began our journey back. The entire port was ripped apart – a lot of the buildings exploded, the quay exploded, and the ship's side was blown away. The whole side, Tony! Melville had just granted a coupla hours shore leave for all but a skeleton crew to celebrate his victory, and most were on the quay or waiting to disembark when it happened.'

He raised his eyes and stared through the glass. 'Go on,' Tony urged him, able to read his brother perfectly. 'You went to find Bobby.'

Marco ran a hand through his hair. 'We were ordered straight out to sea. I left the ship to my first lieutenant and took a motor boat back, to find Bob. There were bodies everywhere, in the water and on the pieces of quay, floating all round me. There were medics who put the wounded in a row, waiting for helicopter rides to hospitals, sorting through the injured. He wasn't among them, so I searched everywhere. He wasn't far away, Tony, lying on his side, his clothes covered with blood. I saw a medic step over him without administering anything; he was gone before I arrived. Bobby was struggling to breathe, he had a hole under his clothes, bones and blood and muscle all round him – he had nothing on his left side, nothing left. I said I'd get some morph, but he just grabbed my arm and said to stay, and he just closed his eyes…His clothes were soaking wet, he'd somehow managed to swim out…'

They gazed at each other in silence, one cursing himself for having arrived too late to ease Bobby's pain, the other cursing fate for having kept him incarcerated and unable to prevent the entire incident. Aware of the lack of time, Tony spoke first.

'Listen, Marco, I need you to do something for me. Aziz was part of a larger group, the ringleader was a guy called Rashid. He was in Kuwait with others; at least he was five months ago. I'm afraid they'll go for soft targets next. The rest of the group is listed in a file under his name. They're all US citizens, one day they'll return. Marco, they spent a lot of time here with another suspicious character called Ghazi, who also knows plenty about explosives. I need you go to CTU and warn them to search both files, his is under Domestic Surveillance.'

'You want ME to go to CTU, after what they done to you?' Marco exclaimed, shaking his head.

'Will you just forget about me? I'm not permitted access to a phone, and the letter I wrote Hammond seems to have gone missing – he never acknowledged it, or asked anything. They're real detailed files, if he wanted to search through them he'd have needed to ask something. You got to go; I got no one else to send. Marco, don't let this happen again.'

Marco nodded reluctantly. 'Ok, I'll go. Remember Tony, if you need to see me for anything, just write about the dog, and I'll come.'

'Yeah,' he agreed, managing to smile as his brother was led away.


	26. Chapter Twenty Six: Wrong Place And Time

Tony waited impatiently for any news of Aziz's capture, but none came. Puzzled, he forced himself to focus on his routine instead, the endless breakfasts, lunches and dinners in the mess hall, the aimless wandering around the yard, the conversations with Sanchez in the afternoons, and his Arabic lessons. Much to his surprise he progressed well with the latter, covering five detailed chapters in as many days. Arabic writing proved more challenging, he spent hours attempting to copy letters neatly. Sanchez would sit opposite him on his chair, struggling with essay writing or arithmetic, until he would mutter a few curses and slap his books shut, whereupon Tony would get up and explain the lesson patiently.

'So what use is this, amigo?' Sanchez inquired yet again. Tony opened his mouth, closing it wordless.

'Well…'

'Sí, that's my point! You learned all this, you know it. Did you EVER use it?'

'In the army, I guess. It was important to calculate angles accurately when you needed to shoot someone. And my father uses it a lot, for his designs.'

'That's good for him, but I'm no architect!'

Tony got up, pushing the chair back more forcefully than he intended. 'Listen; just pass the subject, ok? It's not that hard.'

Sanchez gazed at him surprised. 'What's wrong, amigo? You've been real restless all week. You waiting for a letter from your boss Hammond?'

'What?' Tony cried, swinging round to face him. 'How the hell did you know I wrote to him?'

'I read it, when you were sleeping,' Sanchez admitted guiltily. 'Amigo, I was bored! Your letter was very interesting, so many bad terroristas! Aziz, Rashid, Ghazi, weird names, too. Some here, some in Kuwait, some in Egypt, it was like a good movie.'

'It was PRIVATE!' Tony hissed, glaring at him.

Sanchez nodded placating. 'Of course, amigo. I didn't tell anyone.'

They glared at each other in silence for a moment, before Tony slammed his fist into the wall. 'You had no right…'

An angry shout interrupted them. 'You spics bang on our wall again, you're dead.' A piece of paper flew into the cell. 'Death to spics!'

Tony picked it up silently and threw it into the toilet. Sanchez tore a page out of his exercise book, almost glad of the interruption, and wrote a rude note, passing it back. A howl of outrage greeted its arrival. 'Stop it,' Tony sighed, just as he did every afternoon around the same time. 'You're only encouraging them. Why swap insults? It's a waste of paper.'

'Amigo, no one writes more letters than you do.' Sanchez told him firmly, tearing another page from the book.

Tony shook his head, chewing his lip. 'I write to my FAMILY!'

'Sure you do. And I write to my neighbors, see. They write, and I answer. It's real rude not to. At least I don't need a stamp,' Sanchez told him cheerfully. Tony groaned aloud and resumed his pacing.

_I'm going nuts in here! How the hell can I live like this everyday_? He groaned again, wandering whether he would sink to their level as the years passed.

Tony heard a bang from the other side of the cell. 'A badge,' warned Colin.

He grabbed Sanchez's latest note and put it under the blanket, gazing impassively at the patrolling guards. They walked past, glancing carefully at them and into the neighboring cell. Sanchez removed his note once they walked past, continuing it. He threw it over carefully, and a moment later there was another howl and the note was returned. Tony climbed onto his bunk, grabbing his Arabic grammar. Today he would give himself a test, and if he passed, he would begin on chapter six.

The guards returned, pausing outside their cell. 'Alright, convict, hand that note over!' demanded one of them. 'Not the exercise book, the note. Immediately!' Tony rolled over, watching Sanchez pass the note out reluctantly.

'You don't seem to place much value on red hair and blue eyes,' remarked a guard, frowning. 'You're insulting your neighbors, Convict. Care to explain yourself.'

'He was taking notes for a novel he's planning,' Tony interrupted, sliding down the bunk. 'It's set in the future, in a space station orbiting Gamma Hydra Eight, and there's this red haired administrator who comes…'

'Did I ask for your comment?' snapped the irritated guard. He glared at both of them. 'Alright, the pair of you, I can see you've got more time on your hands than you know what to do with! I've got some jobs for you. The main floor needs to be scrubbed, and the showers need to be bleached, and the windows on the guard room can sure use a wash. Hands behind your backs.'

Tony sighed aloud, not daring to refuse. _By now I'd be halfway through this grammar book, if I had my own cell._ Silently he followed Sanchez out of the cell and over to the showers, where they were handed a bucket and mop each.

'Alright, you two. You get to mop the main floor,' he pointed to Tony, 'while you clean the showers. Get with it.'

'Almeida,' Sanchez said, as Tony lifted his bucket. 'Gracias.'

Tony shrugged. 'It's ok. At least we get to leave the cell a bit.' He carried the bucket out, sighing quietly so as not to be heard by the guard who followed him. _Why do I get to mop the main floor? Everyone will see that, dammit! And where the hell do they use mops like this nowadays, anyway, apart from in black and white movies?_

The guard pointed out the area near the door and Tony began to work, dipping the mop in the bucket and spreading water around. 'What the hell do you think you're doing, convict Almeida?' hissed the guard, unimpressed. 'Haven't you ever washed floors before? You're supposed to squeeze the mop out a bit, look, the floor's soaking.'

Tony gazed at the puddles on the ground, nodding. 'Yeah. What am I supposed to squeeze this thing out with?'

'Your hands, of course,' snapped the guard. 'Get on with it, convict, or you'll end up with a D-report.'

Tony dipped his mop again, taking care to squeeze it out with his hands before running it over the ground. Dozens of bored eyes followed his every move. He noticed Gonzales watching him, eyes boring into him, Fernandez beside him. He mopped rapidly in front of their section, moving away as fast as he could. So far he had managed to avoid the 'talk' they wanted to hold, but he was certain it was coming.

The cleaning took the entire afternoon, and Tony was still forced to help Sanchez in the shower block. 'That's always been there,' Sanchez explained, pointing to entire tiles coated with slime. 'What can I do about it?'

Tony shook his head annoyed, longing to return to his books. 'You pour bleach on them, and wait ten minutes. Then you scrub. I'll show you.' They scrubbed silently, watching the mould disappear.

'You know, amigo, if they ever release you, you could always get a job as a cleaner,' Sanchez remarked, staring at the bathroom impressed. He fell silent, seeing Tony's thunderous expression. 'Sorry.'

Tony moved to stand against the locked door, waiting for the guard, face turned away from his cellmate.

They were led back to their cell an hour before dinner, wet and smelling strongly of bleach. Tony climbed onto his bunk wearily. 'Place sure smells like a swimming pool,' he observed, biting his lips.

'Yep,' Sanchez said. 'Almost forgot they exist, you know.' He pulled out a pack of cards and laid them out on the floor, swearing at himself moments later. Tony laid his book down, unable to stop staring at him.

'What are you doing?' he asked finally.

'I'm playing with an old friend, see. Him and me, we play everyday, always have, since I got sent down.'

Tony glanced back at his book, struggling to read a few words, before his heart got the better of him. 'Want me to play too, today?' he asked, nonchalantly, nodding his head at the cards.

Sanchez nodded eagerly, shuffling the pack. 'Not that I got anything to lose,' Tony added, climbing down to sit on the floor.

They played till the siren wailed, Sanchez cheating openly.

They lined up outside, leaving the pack on the floor, standing directly in front of the Aryan Brothers. Tony made certain he stood next to them, not trusting Sanchez to ignore the constant insults whispered behind him. Silently they marched down to the floor and across to the dining hall. Tony wrinkled his nose as they entered the area, sure he could smell fish. His stomach heaved and he swallowed salty liquid down, forcing himself to collect a tray and carry it over to a table. He sighed heavily, rubbing a hand along his face as he forced himself to swallow it down_. Eat it, Almeida; you'll be real hungry if you don't! _ Despite his valiant efforts, half the fish remained on the plate, staring back at him. Tony sighed heavily, allowing his eyes to roam the area in search of a bin. _There's bound to be one somewhere!_

'What are you looking for, amigo?' Sanchez asked, watching him. 'You look like you need to go somewhere. There's a toilet there, just behind that green door.'

Tony nodded gratefully, wandering how he always discovered these things. He pushed the remainder of the fish into his pocket and set off determinedly for the toilet. Checking the guards rapidly, he pushed the door open and stepped inside a brightly lit bathroom, searching for a flush toilet to dispose of his meal. A strangled gasp reached his ears, smothered instantly. The toilet door was kicked hard.

Ignoring a cautionary voice urging him to leave the area, he moved closer, pulling himself on top of the door. Two Mexicans stood inside the cubicle, one attempting to push his knife deeper inside another. Tony dropped onto the startled assailant, ripping the knife from his hand. 'What the hell do you think you're doing?' he cried, holding the knife firmly. The man returned his gaze for a fraction of a second.

'Don't push your nose where it doesn't belong, Federal Agent,' he warned. 'You talk, you'll be responsible for starting a bloodbath,' and he turned and left the bathroom.

His victim gurgled, blood seeping from his mouth. Tony stuck the knife under the tap, wiping it clean of prints before throwing it inside the toilet. He picked the injured Mexican up rapidly and carried him outside, intercepted by a guard the moment he stepped through the bathroom door.

'Convict, stop. Face the wall and place your hands on your head. We need a stretcher here, on the double.' The injured Mexican was carried away while Tony faced the wall, not daring to move. A guard placed cuffs on his hands and minutes later he heard the door open again.

'This is a lock-down! I repeat, this is a lock-down. All prisoners will be strip searched individually before being locked in their cell. Any movement will be taken as an attempt to conceal contraband and the guards will fire without warning.'

Supervisor Lee organized the guards into teams and began the search of the prisoners before turning his attention to Tony. 'Convict Almeida, I want to know EXACTLY why you attacked that man.'

Tony turned his head to face the supervisor, shaking it. 'I didn't. I found him there.'

'You're telling me you just happened to walk into the toilet and prevent a murder,' snapped the supervisor. 'Too much of a coincidence, if you ask me. You're not telling me something, convict. If you weren't the attacker, then you scared him off.'

'I didn't attack anyone,' Tony insisted.

'Yeah well, someone did. I want to know who,' replied the supervisor firmly. 'You'll either tell me or you'll tell the warden. Have it your way, but I suggest you tell me quickly – it would go better with you.'

Tony remained silent, chewing his lip. The attacker was obviously guilty of attempted murder, but then he really knew nothing of the victim. They were both Mexican, it was their affair, and not the supervisor's, he decided.

'Search the prisoner,' the supervisor said, and Tony felt himself patted down before he was released from his cuffs and ordered to strip. He removed his clothes, noting the line of prisoners waiting to be searched on the other side of the dining hall. The Mexican gave him a hard look which he returned.

'Sir, I found something on the convict,' exclaimed a guard, holding up the half eaten fish. Tony closed his eyes for a second; wandering whether it would even count among the rest of the infractions they were bound to charge him with.

'Convict Almeida, I want an explanation,' ordered the supervisor, joined by the warden, who hurried over to the group. 'Why the hell did you have a piece of dinner in your pocket?'

Tony chewed his lip, sighing inwardly. 'Sir, I've always hated fish, absolutely detested it. I was going to flush it down the toilet,' he admitted.

'Only you never got to do so,' the warden said into the silence. 'You interrupted a murder. Footage from the security camera shows someone leaving the area seconds before you. Identify the man, and you'll get away without being charged as an accessory.'

'I didn't see his face,' Tony lied. 'He left when I walked in.'

The warden and the supervisor stared at him coldly. 'Convict Almeida, I'll give you one last chance to remember the story,' Warden Jeffries told him. 'I also want to know why the knife was thrown into the toilet. These gangsters never abandon their weapons. Why do you imagine this one did?'

Tony shook his head. 'I wouldn't know sir, I'm pretty new here.'

The warden frowned heavily at him. 'Alright, Almeida, I can see why you were sent here. Maybe a couple of days in A-Seg will help your shocking memory.'

'Sir, I can't recall what I didn't see,' Tony protested mildly.

'Oh, I wouldn't be too certain of that. And you're on reduced rations for a week, for attempting to dispose of a meal. Get dressed.'

Tony pulled his clothes on, groaning inside. Why the hell hadn't he ignored the fight and left the toilet block? The entire affair was nothing to do with him, but he was the one carted away. _You must have been dropped on your head as a baby, Almeida! You just can't seem to learn to mind your own business, can you?_

He placed his hands behind his back without waiting to be told to do so, and felt the cuffs tightened round them. Two guards led him out, one holding the customary stun baton against his chest. Tony left D Block reluctantly, having a pretty good idea of what awaited him in A-Seg. He walked across the yard, filling his lungs with damp air, aware he would spend the next several days locked indoors.

A small block loomed in front of them across the courtyard. Tony's heart sank as they approached it, hating the thought of being locked up yet again_. I'll never get used to this life, mom. I just can't! I can't bear the sound of a door banging behind me. I hate looking out through bars. I need a window!_ He closed his eyes briefly as he was stopped before the steel door, overwhelmed by loneliness. _I just need to go home for a couple of hours. Just a few hours talking to you all…_He imagined his mother's arms around him, hugging him tightly. "Tony, you don't look well. Go and lie down, and I'll bring you something."

'Move it, convict, or I'll zap you,' threatened a guard, and he blinked, startled to see the first steel door stood open. He raised his head and walked inside, hearing it slam behind them. A guard ran his card through the second slot and the door slid silently open. Tony walked through without waiting, turning automatically towards the office.

'Name?' demanded a bored guard.

'Almeida,' Tony answered, quoting his number. The man entered the information into a computer.

'Strip, convict,' he ordered, as Tony had known he would. He watched his cuffs being removed and undressed rapidly, forcing an impassive expression onto his face. After his examination he was ordered to put on his underwear, and the guard glanced back at his monitor. 'Take him to four,' he told two guards from the block.

Tony stared at him amazed, having expected a couple of blows. He followed the guards out rapidly before anyone in authority could appear and order a beating. A long corridor stretched in front of him, filled with tiny cages. One of them towards the end was unlocked and he moved inside, waiting patiently for his cuffs to be removed. He sank onto the rubber mat that lay on the floor, shaking his head.

_I didn't even do anything this time! I was going to behave here, stay out of trouble_. He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, groaning aloud. 'Let me go home! Please please let me go home!'


	27. Chapter Twenty Seven: Leader Of The Gang

Tony finished his exercises and lay back on the rubber mat, panting from exertion. He had completed 150 push-ups without pausing for the third time that day. He wiped the sweat from his forehead and closed his eyes, waiting for his breathing to steady. Four days had passed since his incarceration in the 'cage', and they seemed closer to four years to him. The mat on the floor took up almost the entire space, leaving him unable to pace without rolling it up. He had counted the bars several times, and recognized all the guards who patrolled his corridor. It was time for a break, he decided, wiping more sweat from his brow.

_What are you doing, Michelle honey? I hope you're doing well in your new position in Seattle. Don't worry about me, sweetheart, I'm fine really. Are you ok, mom? You'll never be 'ok' again, of course, but are you able to face tomorrow with a smile? I miss you so much. What are you doing, Papa? It's so cold now, are you reading in your den. I guess you don't really need to hide there anymore, there's no one left at home to interrupt you._ He sighed heavily, knowing how much his parents hated a silent house. Years ago they would've welcomed a little peace, counting the day 'quiet' if only two or three children were home. Tony closed his eyes, remembering a 'quiet' day.

His mother had taken most of the children to visit a friend, leaving him home to complete an assignment together with Rita, who had a cold. His father worked hard in the garden, pruning the fruit trees. Tony glanced idly at his watch, waiting for the game to begin. The Cubs had played well for the previous few games, and there was every indication they would repeat their success that afternoon. There was only a slight complication. He sighed, knowing he was forbidden to watch TV for three days, and it wasn't up yet. There was no way he would be able to watch it downstairs, but he could see the TV quite well from the banister. He got up, hunting for his sister.

'Rita, could you switch the TV on and leave the door open? I can't miss this game,' he begged her.

'Sure' she agreed readily. She carried a book downstairs with her and switched the game on, opening the door wide. He pressed his head against the gap in the railing and watched, thrilled.

His father entered unexpectedly from the front a few minutes later, spotting him. They stared at each other in silence for a few seconds before he went to switch off the TV. 'Antonio, come here, next to Rita!' Tony sighed heavily and moved downstairs, settling next to his sister, who threw him a nervous look. 'You should be ashamed of yourself, Tony,' his father began. 'You know perfectly well you were not supposed to watch TV today. Not only did you do so, but you managed to involve your younger sister as well.'

Tony glanced at his father guiltily. 'Papa, she didn't know, I asked her…' he began.

Mr. Almeida shook his head. 'She knew. You're both grounded, and there's no TV for either of you for the next three days. Now I'm sure you've got some homework, Tony.'

Tony opened his school books, unable to concentrate on a single subject. He gave up after twenty minutes and set off in search of his sister, finding her on the phone. 'I'm sorry, Kathy. I can't come. Bye.' She hung up and stared at him startled.

'Where can't you go?' he inquired softly.

'Her mom was gonna take us to the movies tomorrow. I can't go now. It's ok,' she added, seeing his face.

'I'm real sorry,' Tony told her unhappily, and she nodded, returning to the living room with her book. He stared at her reading on the sofa for a few minutes before he opened the garden door, searching for his father.

'Papa.' His father beckoned him over. 'You gotta let Rita off. She's supposed to go to the movies tomorrow; you know no one invited her since we got here. I asked her to switch on the TV and she…'

'And she did so, because she would do whatever you ask, anytime,' Mr. Almeida replied, pruning another dry branch.

'Papa, I'll take all six days, but you gotta let her go out tomorrow,' Tony pleaded.

'You're feeling real guilty, I can see that,' his father remarked, laying the branch on the ground. 'You're a lot older than she is, you shouldn't involve your younger sisters in your mischief. Alright, Tony,' he said with a sigh, 'Rita can go to the movies. And you've learned your lesson too; you can watch TV again from tomorrow. Now I could use a little help carrying these branches to the bin.'

Tony turned over restlessly, rubbing his face. _Stop thinking of home during the day, Almeida, it's not helping you. That's supposed to be left to night time, remember? Now you've got an extra hundred push-ups!_ He rolled off the mat and began his exercises again, determined to discipline himself. Ok, so he was locked in a cage without any kind of mental stimulation, but it didn't excuse him from breaking his self imposed rules so often. 'Focus, Almeida', he ordered himself'Focus on what?' his mind screamed.

He was returned to D Block two days later, following the guards silently along the catwalk. Once his cuffs were removed and the guards left he settled on a chair, exchanging nods with Sanchez.

'Amigo, are you ok? I was getting worried, they didn't tell me anything.'

'I'm fine. I got a little time in A-Seg to see if my memory would improve, but unfortunately it didn't.'

Sanchez shook his head. 'It's not a joke, fed. Gonzales wants to see you tomorrow; he'll come over to you.' Tony nodded, knowing it would happen. 'Amigo, you don't seem to understand. He's the leader of the southern Mexican gang here; he doesn't usually go to talk to anyone.'

Tony leaned further into the chair. 'Was it his guy who got stabbed, or who done the stabbing?'

'His guy done the stabbing, so right now he's pretty grateful to you. Any shit goes down; his arse is on the line. The warden kind of puts it on the head guy in each gang to keep his men in order, and this time they're real pissed coz no one will talk.'

Tony nodded, filling his plastic cup with some water. 'I take it nobody ever talks?'

Sanchez stared at him as though he were mad. 'Of course not! It's not their business. You got to sort out your own problems here! Imagine running to the gringos!'

'Guess not,' he agreed. He got up and climbed onto his bunk, pulling back the blanket. Michelle's face smiled out at him. He swallowed a lump and pulled the blanket over it carefully.

'When do you see her again?'

He shrugged. 'Not next time, she's working in Seattle. Four weeks, I hope.' His face settled into the usual impenetrable mask as he lifted his Arabic book. 'Still here. I was afraid they'd remove it. What do you think, Sanchez? This place is a little slacker than the other one. I mean, I got sent to A-Seg, and no one beat me.'

Sanchez frowned thoughtfully. 'Watch it, amigo. Sure they're slack about some things, but they hang more people than any other place. They say the SHU is pure hell.'

'It was pure hell in the other place too, and you know it,' Tony replied. He rubbed his eyes, tired with the effort of talking after a week of silence. 'Wake me up for dinner, would you?'

Sanchez looked disappointed. 'And I was hoping to have someone to talk to,' he grumbled.

'I will tomorrow,' Tony promised. He closed his eyes, falling asleep a lot sooner than he expected. It seemed moments later when his shoulder was shaken vigorously.

'Dinner, amigo. Come on.'

Tony settled in his usual spot next to Sanchez, dismayed to find fish on the menu. It seemed the guards kept him in their peripheral vision; he noticed them out of the corner of his eyes. He cut the fish in half and slid a piece onto his friend's plate, shrugging apologetically.

'You'll be hungry, amigo,' Sanchez warned. 'You sure you wanna give me this?'

'Yeah,' he agreed, eating a few potatoes.

'You might want some chocolate instead,' said a new voice in Spanish, and they fell silent, watching Gonzales sit opposite them. 'I wanted to talk to you, Almeida,' he began unnecessarily. 'You seem to be a hard man to reach.'

Tony put more food into his mouth, chewing silently.

'You don't talk much, that's good! I would've thought a fed would work with the "authorities"'.

'I'm not a federal agent anymore, as I'm sure you can see,' Tony remarked sarcastically. 'And I don't tell tales. Now let me ask YOU something.'

Sanchez gave him a warning kick under the table which he disregarded. 'Why'd your guy stab that other man? You're both stuck in prison in the US, and you're both Mexican? I don't get it at all.'

Gonzales looked into his eyes, attempting to read something, coming up empty. 'You're real naïve, agent. We're southern Mexican, and they're northern.' He cut a piece of fish and placed it in his mouth.

Tony nodded. 'I see. You guys make a habit of depopulating northern Mexico! Or do you leave women and kids?'

Gonzales laughed. 'You're real sarcastic, that's good. You know exactly who we are.'

'I know you guys are the southern Mexican mafia, and the other lot are your rivals,' Tony replied, eating the last of the vegetables and wishing there were more. 'You don't exactly believe in competition.'

Gonzales glared at him. 'It's nothing to do with that. They've been killing our guys for over a hundred years now. We can't ignore that.'

'And you've been killing theirs, I expect,' he replied, yawning. 'Forgive me for not sympathizing. Do you guys even remember who killed who first?'

Gonzales gave an irritated exclamation. 'Of course we do. They started it, agent.'

'I'm sure,' Tony remarked, shrugging. 'So you're still avenging that insult, are you? With people like you, we'd still be riding around on wagons!'

Gonzales banged his fist on the table. 'Watch it, fed. So you didn't betray our guy, that doesn't give you the right to insult us.'

Tony drank a little milk, wiping his mouth in his arm. 'I'm not insulting anyone,' he said, milder. 'Murdering works for you, why give up? Just that here you're both stuck, and you're being picked on by those bikers all the time, coz alone you're weak, whilst if you'd call a truce, you could turn your attention to the real problem. Don't you see the guards play you guys off against each other? Why do you think they don't crack down on you harder? Why do you think they let me go so easily? Coz they LIKE you killing each other, coz you're fully occupied with that. I just wish there'd be someone in authority from your gang I could speak to, about a truce.'

Sanchez choked on a piece of fish, having to be thumped on the back hard. Gonzales remained silent for a long while before he looked back at Tony. 'There's a lot in what you say, fed. Not that your idea is original! I did think of it before, but there's no way I could go talk to Perez. I'd be stabbed by his thugs before I could get near him!'

Tony nodded, finishing his milk. 'So you're saying you wouldn't object to a truce, but who'd have the authority to call one?' He chewed his lip hard, forcing his impassive expression on his face.

Gonzales' face turned red. 'I do, of course! What do you think I am, just an ordinary hit man? In this prison I have the authority to make ALL decisions for the gang!' He glared at Tony. 'Do you understand, fed?'

'If you say so,' Tony replied. 'I just need to know who's the man in charge, that's all, coz only he would have the authority to call a truce.'

'Well, I AM THE MAN IN CHARGE!' Gonzales yelled. He lowered his voice a fraction, gazing round. 'And I can agree to a truce, if the other lot agrees, for my gang.'

'If you're sure you have the right to agree to such a thing,' Tony said, doubtfully, watching the man's face. Gonzales turned purple.

'I just told you I do. If I could meet with Perez you'd soon see!'

'Amigo, it'll never happen,' Sanchez interrupted, clearly terrified. 'They can't speak to each other, you know. They'd never get anywhere near each other. And who'd go to meet who first? The weak guys give up, and these people are not WEAK.'

Gonzales nodded. 'He's right, Almeida. Someone would need to speak to both of us, some neutral person. Someone would have to arrange a meeting on neutral territory, just the two of us. Maybe he could go with a message?' he concluded, pointing at Sanchez. 'He's American, he speaks Spanish, he's not involved in our business, and he's real stupid.'

Tony gazed at the terrified Sanchez in amusement.

'NO, not me,' Sanchez begged. 'I don't want any trouble,' he added. 'Send Almeida, he can talk. Hell, he's got experience talking to people like them.'

Gonzales looked carefully at Tony. 'You'd be willing to go, agent?'

Tony nodded. 'Sí, I'll go.'

'One last question, agent,' Gonzales said, placing a hand on Tony's shoulder as he attempted to rise. Tony settled back down, gazing at him. 'Why would you care? We are all thugs, to you. Why stick your neck out for us?'

Tony rubbed his face, wishing the question hadn't been asked. 'My father is Mexican,' he admitted reluctantly. 'I loved to go there on holidays. I'll go talk to Perez and arrange a meeting between you two.' He got up slowly, picking up his tray, aware of the entire southern gang's eyes on him as he returned it and leaned against the wall.

The siren wailed a minute later, and all trays were returned. Tony joined the queue, his head in a whirl. He had been alone with his thoughts for an entire week, and had been thrust into the role of negotiator mere hours after his return to general population. He longed to lie on his bunk and think about the events in peace, knowing he needed time to plan his discussion with Perez.

Back in his cell he brushed his teeth and undressed, hearing the siren wail for lights out as he pulled the blanket onto himself. Michelle's picture smiled at him, eyes looking directly into his own, inviting him to laugh with her. Tears pricked the back of his eyes as he kissed her picture.

_Come see me as soon as you can, honey. I really miss you_. He pictured her sitting opposite him, behind the solid glass, smiling at him as she explained what she'd seen or done in Seattle. _Please come soon, sweetheart. I need to hear your voice._ He attempted to recall exactly what she sounded like, brushing a few hot tears away. _Dammit sweetheart, don't stay away too long. I really need your visits. Until the day you'll stop coming…._Tony rolled onto his stomach, burying his face in the pillow.

The day would come when he'd get a letter from her, telling him she wouldn't come again, he was certain of it. How he would cope with it he didn't know, but he knew it would be a worse time than his arrest and sentencing together. _Don't think about it now, Almeida. She promised to come see you next month, she'll be here. She's never let you down before._ He pressed his eyes shut, remembering waiting for her at hospital.

"Mr. Almeida, we can't wait any longer, theatre is free. That arm needs to be fixed now.'

He had nodded, understanding the doctor's frustration, but delaying his sedation as long as he could. She had promised to be there… Of course with Chappelle visiting CTU she was probably going to be unavoidably delayed… He pulled out his phone and called her, unable to get through. 'Ok, I'm ready,' he said, resigned. A nurse administered a needle, telling him he'd feel drowsy within minutes, and she'd been amazed to see him sitting up in bed, almost fully alert a few minutes later.

'Mr. Almeida, you've got to lie down and shut your eyes. This medication is strong, it should work, I'm not authorized to give you a second shot.'

He had nodded, glancing at the corridor, knowing she was coming. When the nurse left he called the front desk at CTU to ask when she left, dismayed to hear it was only fifteen minutes ago. With the kind of heavy traffic in the afternoon rush hour, she would take over an hour to arrive. He lay down, shutting his eyes.

'Tony!' the sweetest voice in the world exclaimed, and he opened his eyes, watching her rush into the room. 'Sorry I'm so late, sweetheart. Chappelle kept us so long; I had to sneak out in the end.' She bent forward to kiss him.

Tony kissed her back, losing his battle with drowsiness. 'How did you get here so soon, honey,' he whispered, feeling her take his hand.

He heard something about a helicopter before he fell asleep.

He wiped his face in his pillow, turning it over angrily. Why did his heart break every time he remembered her, instead of being comforted? 'I don't know how long I can do this, sweetheart,' he whispered to her photo.


	28. Chapter Twenty Eight: Jack's Visit

It rained the following day, so they were not permitted outdoors. At least the guards said it was raining, Tony thought sarcastically, lying on his back and staring aimlessly at the ceiling. It was impossible to know from there, with a frosted glass window, and so many doors between the main floor and the entrance to the block no damp smell ever found its way inside. He listened intently, unable to hear anything over the eternal cursing. If it was raining, it was only a mild drizzle, he decided – otherwise he would pick up some sound from the roof.

Ultimately it made little difference. As long as the guards refused to open the doors, they were stuck inside.

'Amigo, sit up,' Sanchez told him, irritated. 'How long are you gonna lie there gazing at nothing? Come play cards.'

_I don't wanna play cards, I wanna go outside! I wanna go home. I wanna go to the beach!_

'Snap out of it,' Sanchez said, clicking his finger above Tony's face.

Tony stared at him dully. 'Why? We're gonna be stuck inside all day.'

'So we'll play cards,' his cellmate told him, enthusiastically. 'Then maybe you can help me pass English. I've got a short test next week.'

'What!' Tony exclaimed, sitting up. 'You never told me. Sanchez, you'll never pass if you don't study.' He swung his legs off the bunk. 'Bring your exercise book. I'll show you how to plan an essay. Each one needs three main points, not a dozen, but three well thought out arguments.'

Sanchez handed him the pack of cards instead. 'You can deal amigo.'

Tony shook his head, placing them on the bed. 'No, not now. You need to pass essay writing, remember? Now let me think of a topic.'

Sanchez sighed heavily. 'We could write about why I hate our neighbors so much, amigo,' he suggested. 'I got many reasons.'

Tony spent the next hour trying to help him narrow down his list of reasons to three and describe them in greater detail, pleased to see the progress Sanchez was making. Really, he was reasonably intelligent. Just before they were released for lunch he had produced a well documented essay on the negative traits of their neighbors. 'What do you think, amigo, would that pass?'

'Yeah, it sure would,' Tony agreed, congratulating himself on his teaching skills. 'You'd get an 'A' for that, I guess.'

'I'd get an 'A'', Sanchez echoed, shaking his head. He picked it up, glancing through it one final time, before he pushed it through the bars and into the neighboring cell. 'They can read it too, it's about them,' he apologized, seeing Tony's thunderous expression. 'We don't talk about people behind their backs, you know.'

'You're nuts,' Tony sighed, preparing himself for some inevitable scuffling in the queue. 'Don't you learn, Sanchez? I don't wanna fight with them, ok. I got a visitor coming next week, I won't risk losing that, and I got to go speak to the Mexicans tomorrow, or whenever the hell Supervisor Lee decides it's not raining anymore!'

'Sorry,' Sanchez apologized, his sparkling eyes betraying his lack of regret. A string of oaths reached their ears a minute later. 'Seems they can read,' Sanchez said.

'Yeah,' Tony sighed. 'Did you hear that, Sanchez? They're gonna stab us when we go out in the yard next! You satisfied now?'

'Now amigo, they won't get anywhere near us, you'd wring their necks,' Sanchez comforted him. 'I've seen you fight, you're good. And we got some new Mexican friends.'

Tony buried his head in his hands, just as the siren wailed. The cell doors opened and everyone lined up silently, apart from the Aryan brothers, who gave Tony a vicious shove from behind. 'Hey you, spic! You wanna call us "ignorant bigots" again?'

'Not particularly,' Tony replied quietly, wishing the order to move would be given.

'Yeah, thought so. You're scared when you haven't got solid steel bars to hide behind.' Tony remained silent. 'You're shaking.'

Tony took a deep breath. 'I'd just prefer ignoring you,' he said honestly, relieved to find the queue shuffling forward.

There was an outraged hiss from behind, and he was kicked hard in the shins. 'I wouldn't do that again,' he warned as they reached the stairs, moving down in a snaking queue.

He felt another kick, twice as hard. Without breaking his stride for more than a second he turned, grasped the handrail and returned the kick, hitting the man's kneecap. The swearing he heard seemed almost second nature to him after five months in prison; he walked down the first row of stairs calmly. A shadow warned him of movement behind him and he grasped the railing firmly, a fraction of a second from being thrown over the side. The queue continued down, while Tony warned them to stop that moment before they'd all regret it. He got another shove from behind, causing him to slip and slide down three stairs before he was able to steady himself. Enraged, he turned and grabbed his attacker by the jumpsuit. 'Listen to me, you moron. Don't you dare touch me again, or you're dead.'

A hand grasped him firmly and he was hauled out of the queue and ordered to face the wall while the rest walked past. Two guards remained motionless beside him, holding his arms as the rest of the prisoners left the floor, before one of them activated his stun baton. A wave of pain hit Tony's neck, spreading like fire through his body, paralyzing him for several seconds before he slumped forward, gasping for breath. Sweat poured down his forehead and his stomach gave a dry heave as he fought to straighten. _Oh God, that's far worse than a nightstick._

'Face the wall, convict,' snapped a guard, placing the stun baton back to his neck. Tony faced the wall, begging silently for divine assistance to avoid a second shot. One of the guards placed cuffs on his wrists and he was ordered to return to his cell. Fighting waves of nausea he stumbled upstairs, entered his cell and moved to the wall, expecting his cuffs to be removed.

One of the guards remained beside him with the stun baton while the other threw Sanchez's mattress on the floor, revealing a concrete base. The guard returned, removing his cuffs. 'Clothes,' he ordered, and Tony stripped reluctantly, knowing what was about to happen to him. 'Get on the bed,' snapped the same irritated guard and he climbed on, lying on his back, spreading his arms. Each one was cuffed to an iron ring at the edges of the bed, before they pulled his legs out and shackled them too, leaving him spread-eagled. 'Alright, convict, you won't be able to fight for a while. Supervisor Lee will decide how long you got,' one told him as they exited his cell, locking the door behind them.

Tony closed his eyes, fighting to steady his breathing. He longed to curl up in a ball and moan aloud. After a couple of minutes taking deep breaths he calmed himself enough to look up at the iron bed on top of him, thankful they decided to cuff him to the lower bunk. At least his picture remained concealed. His body felt cold and stiff against the unyielding concrete. _Maldito sea. I would have been at lunch now!_

The lunch hour passed excruciatingly slowly as he lay there, feeling the cold seep through his bones. Tony found himself looking forward to Sanchez's return, hoping he would place a blanket under him, but he failed to return when the other prisoners walked past the cell.

'Having fun, spic?' one of the Aryan brothers called, banging on his cell as he walked past. He gazed back impassively as they walked away. Where was Sanchez? By evening his arms and legs were stiff and his back was rigid. He hoped they would release him in time for dinner as he was terribly hungry, but the siren wailed without anyone entering his cell. The Aryan brothers laughed derisively as they walked past. 'Siesta time, is it, spic?' one yelled, spitting through the bars, hitting Tony's leg. 'You're missing dinner, you know.' They walked off hooting.

Tony chewed his lip, furious, raising his head to watch the spit on his leg. _It's hardly fair, after all. We were both pushing each other, and only I got punished. I guess it helps, if the guards favor you…_

The day dragged to an end without the return of his cellmate. Everyone returned from dinner, the Aryan brothers unable to yell any insult as they were followed closely by two guards. Tony watched them enter his cell, longing to be released.

'Convict Almeida, you've been sentenced to 24 hours of restraint. Supervisor Lee can't abide fighting.'

Tony closed his eyes momentarily before he turned to face them, seeking their eyes. 'At least bring me some water,' he begged. 'My cup's on the table.'

They laughed in amusement. 'You don't get anything while you're restrained, convict. Count yourself fortunate if you get released in time to join the lunch queue tomorrow!'

Tony felt his expression harden. 'Thanks,' he muttered, turning his face away.

'Don't mention it, con; it's what we're here for. Oh, and you've just missed tomorrow's lunch! Got any further comments?' They looked at him challengingly, one fingering his stun baton.

'No sir,' Tony muttered.

'Good,' the guard replied, clearly disappointed. 'We'll be seeing you tomorrow, then.' They exited his cell, leaving him alone with his thoughts.

_Go to sleep, Almeida, it'll make tomorrow come sooner. But I really need to go…Forget it, Almeida, you'll wait till tomorrow! Try hard, anyway!_

He spent an uncomfortable night, too cold to sleep, recalling his best moments with Michelle. _What would you say to them if you saw me now, sweetheart? I wander if you're sleeping now. I miss you SO much. _He had a sudden vision of her sitting up in bed, frowning in anxiety. _I can 'see' you, sweetheart._

To his amazement they released him soon after breakfast, ordering him to get up and face the wall. Tony climbed off the bed, unable to bend his legs and managed to get to the back of the cell. 'Tidy yourself up, convict, immediately. I'll be back in five minutes,' warned the guard.

He dressed with difficulty, wandering what was about to happen. Two guards returned five minutes later, placing him in cuffs and removing him from his cell. 'Alright, convict, we're leaving D Block. Any step out of line will result in another taste of the baton, is that clear?'

He agreed, mystified, following them over to the administration building and into an interrogation room. They shackled his legs to a chair and ordered him to wait silently. Tony ran through a list of possible people, unable to decide who had come to question him. Not his lawyer, he had nothing more to lose. Not Hammond, who had written a short letter insisting he not be disturbed again. He closed his eyes, resting, fighting down his anxiety.

The door opened and a golden haired man entered, glancing impassively at him. Tony gazed back equally impassive, noting the guards watched him for any hint of emotion. 'Alright, you can question him. Should you require assistance, just ring that bell. You may use non lethal force if he refuses to cooperate.' They left as the man nodded.

'So how are you, Tony?' he asked quietly, running his eyes expertly over the prisoner.

Tony rubbed his face, uncertain how to respond. 'OK' he replied quietly. 'How about you, Jack?' The conversation sounded unreal to him as he listened to himself speak, wandering why he was being visited.

Jack shrugged. 'I'm ok now, I've been through rehab. It wasn't exactly something I'll forget in a hurry.' He fell silent as they gazed at the table between them. 'I'm guessing you won't forget the last coupla months either.' Tony remained silent, waiting to hear why he came.

'So tell me how it's been,' Jack continued, after waiting to see whether he would speak.

Tony shrugged, fixing his gaze on the floor. 'I got what I deserved, right, Jack?' He narrowed his eyes, scowling at his colleague's shoes.

Jack shook his head exasperated. 'Don't be stupid, Tony. I'm doing my best to get you out, you know that! Would I bother, if I thought you guilty?'

Tony chewed his lip in silence, hardening his expression. 'Don't bother, it's not happening. Just go back to work and forget about me, ok. You don't wanna be associated with a traitor.'

'Will you stop that shit,' Jack snapped, growing irritated. 'I just lost my job yesterday, if you must know. Managed to hang onto my card, so it's my only chance to visit you like this.'

Tony raised his eyes for the first time since the conversation began. 'You're kidding? Why? You just said you're clean.'

'I am,' Jack replied, frowning slightly. 'Erin Driscoll, your replacement, doesn't think I'm trustworthy enough. She's already replaced me.'

Tony shook his head slowly. 'That's not right; you only took drugs to maintain your cover. They must know that.'

'They know. It made no difference. I'll get something else, don't you worry, I don't want to work for CTU anyway.'

Tony gazed at him in silent sympathy, seeing the pain momentarily in his friend's eyes. 'I'm sorry, Jack.'

'It's nothing compared to what you're going through,' Jack said quietly. 'Michelle asked me to visit you; she had a bad dream about you last night. She was worried you were stuck in some hole or something. Talk to me, Tony, I got to tell her something.'

Tony stared at him startled. 'She called you last night?' He gave a snort and shook his head.

'What happened last night, Tony?' They stared at each other for a moment before Jack sighed. 'I won't tell her, if you don't want me to.'

Tony shrugged. 'It wasn't much. There was a scuffle, and I got shackled to a concrete bed frame for 20 hours. I'd still be there now…'

Jack shook his head, shocked. 'Is that normal practice round here?'

'Oh, I guess so. You're lucky if you don't get locked in a cage, or thrown into a tiny dark cell where you get to spend 23 hours everyday. You get used to it in the end,' he lied, hoping Jack would believe him.

'Tony, I will get you out,' Jack promised, reaching forward to squeeze his shoulder, shocked to see Tony flinch. 'How many times have they beaten you?' he inquired, watching him with his keen interrogator's eyes.

'What difference does it make?' Tony muttered, ashamed of his reaction that obviously betrayed his time incarcerated. 'They teach you to take the rules seriously.'

'You're cold,' Jack observed. 'Take your shirt off,' he demanded suddenly, ignoring Tony's shaking head. 'Now, Tony. You don't want me to call a guard.'

Tony's expression hardened. He unzipped the top of the jumpsuit and pulled it off, removing his t-shirt. Jack pointed at his undershirt. Sighing heavily Tony pulled it off, fixing his gaze on the table.

'Get up, Tony,' Jack ordered, getting up himself and moving round the table to examine him. 'They taught you quite a lesson a coupla weeks ago, right?'

Tony shrugged, silent. 'And you're full of older bruises,' Jack observed, examining his ribs. 'Want to tell me about it?'

Tony shook his head, pulling his clothes on.

'I'll get you out, Tony, you gotta believe that. Hang in there, ok, and don't do anything stupid,' Jack warned.

'Jack, wait,' Tony said, sitting back in his chair. 'Can you do me a favor?'

Jack nodded. 'I need a piece of paper and a pen; I remembered my entire list of contacts for the guy who blew up that battleship. I sent my brother to CTU, but they didn't listen to him, and Hammond won't take my letter seriously. Would you be able to find someone who'll check these groups out?' he asked, writing rapidly.

He gazed up at his friend, wandering why he remained silent, shocked to see him rubbing his eyes. He returned his gaze to the paper, finishing his list rapidly, writing the location they were at on his computer. 'Jack, don't let them kill anyone else,' he begged. 'I was gonna give this list to Michelle, but she's away all month. These guys could return anytime.'

'We'll get them,' Jack promised his gaze steady again. 'You're a great agent, you should know that.'

Tony shook his head. 'No Jack, I'm a traitor. I'm a failure, too. My brother died on that ship, just after I let Hammond walk away without listening to me. It's my final case,' he finished, passing the paper to his friend. 'Good luck with finding a job.'

'Thanks' Jack said, placing the paper in his briefcase. He held his hand out, shaking Tony's. 'Goodbye, Tony.'

Tony returned the firm handshake, unable to keep from noticing the sandwich placed at the top of the bag. Involuntarily he swallowed, feeling his stomach rumble.

Jack shook his head, and pulled it out, handing it to him. 'Eat it, Tony. I'm sorry, I didn't think…'

Tony chewed his lip, battling briefly with his pride before he settled back at the table and devoured the sandwich, aware of Jack's scrutiny. Jack opened another zip on his briefcase and handed him a packet of candy. Wordless, he placed it in his pocket, unable to meet his friend's gaze.

'Tony, I'll get you out,' Jack promised, shaking his hand again before he rang the bell and left, leaving Tony struggling to force back hot tears.


	29. Chapter Twenty Nine: The Negotiator

Tony was returned to a different cell after Jack's visit, downstairs and at the side of the block. It contained a single bed, shelf, table and chair. His letters and books were thrown in an untidy pile on his bed. 'Do I get a cell to myself?' he asked, hearing them put away the cuffs.

'Yes you do, convict Almeida. You're a bad influence on everyone round you.'

'A bad influence,' he couldn't help repeating. 'How do you figure that? Sanchez is about to pass the final year of school thanks to me!'

'You know exactly what I mean,' remarked the guard. 'Behave now, convict, if you want to have any dinner!'

'Dammit Jack, I sure wish you'd bought two sandwiches, it was real good,' he thought regretfully. 'You know, my last meal was yesterday breakfast, and my next one will be dinner tonight. I'm kinda hungry!'

He sank onto the bed, cold and stiff, and pulled his blanket over him. The quiet seemed hard to take. He rolled over, curling up, replaying Jack's visit. "Tony, I will get you out." He snorted, trying to kill the faint glimmer of hope that took root in his heart. _I know you're trying, Jack, it's real decent of you, but you can't._ "How many times have they beaten you?" _I don't know anymore, Jack. Are we counting single blows, or just real beatings where I passed out, or came close?_ "Want to tell me about it?" _No I don't! Michelle is bound to question you, and you'd have to lie to her, and if she ever found out…And she probably will, someday, she has a habit of it._ He rolled over again, feeling slightly sick. "You're a great agent, you should know that." He snorted again, remembering Jack's testimony at his trial. _I know you said lots of good stuff about me, and didn't mention anything bad, you're a friend, I guess, but you're wrong. I'm a useless agent. Useless! I failed, when I was needed the most. Hell, I deserve to be here!_ He rubbed his eyes irritated.

_And you ate his sandwich! That was well done, Almeida, he just stared as though he'd never seen a man eat before. Well, he probably didn't, not that way at least. You ate that whole thing in three bites! Now he'll be looking for lunch, again_. He groaned aloud, deeply ashamed, aware he had needed that meal.

"Michelle asked me to visit you; she had a bad dream about you last night." Tony buried his head in his hands. He had called out to her in his despair, could she have heard him? _Don't be a fool, Almeida, it's impossible. She just had a bad dream, that's all_. _Hang on a sec! _He pressed his elbows down, raising his head to rest in his hands. _When did you start coming, Jack? It's a good seven hour drive from LA, and you were here around nine in the morning! When did she call you? You must have come straight away! What could she have said?_

He lay down again, knowing Michelle's persistence. _If she gets an idea in her head, she won't rest till it's carried out. I guess you know that now, Jack._

He closed his eyes, longing to rest. _Oh great, now you've seen me in this bloody orange uniform! _His cheeks burned as he thought of how ridiculous he must have appeared. He sighed quietly. Jack had seen a lot more than the fluorescent uniform. He had seen his bruises, and his reaction to a normal touch, and his hunger. He chewed his lip, deeply ashamed, wandering whether he was glad of the visit. Yes he was, and also no, he wasn't. He rolled over determinedly and fell asleep, tired after his long night awake.

The afternoon passed slowly. Tony found himself missing Sanchez and the game of cards. He glanced through the pile of books Marco had brought on his visit, seeing a couple of his favorite science fictions, his book on baseball that Michelle had bought him when he was sick, and an uninspiring detective novel. He rubbed his face, wandering why his brother had brought that, it wasn't even one of his books.

Tony paused, lifting the book again. He opened the cover and leafed through it, spotting slightly different sized letters on the pages a quarter of the way through. Frowning in excitement he lifted it closer, reading it automatically before realizing it was in Spanish. 30 Incredible Escapes from American Prisons read the caption at the top of every second page, to his delight and horror.

'Oh God, it's just what I need! If ever the guards find this, though, I'm really stuffed!' He opened the first chapter, checking what level of security the prisons were. Three were from maximum security penitentiaries not unlike the two he knew. Tony settled down, unable to take his eyes from the book. The afternoon passed rapidly while he learned about the sewage systems deep underneath the buildings.

The wail of the siren indicating dinner distracted him as he reread the first story, memorizing every detail. Tony placed the book in the middle of his shelf between the rest and went to stand at the door, praying they would let him out. To his relief the door slid aside and he stepped out, hands behind his back and joined the end of a queue of strangers.

A Black Panther ahead of him turned round for a second, looking him over. 'You the dude that escaped from Cromdale?' he asked.

'Yeah,' Tony replied, no longer surprised by how fast news traveled.

'That's cool,' stated the man, turning away.

The queue began to move along the floor, into the dining hall. Tony grabbed a tray and headed determinedly towards the table where he normally sat, placing his tray beside him. Sanchez appeared a few minutes later, sliding into the seat. 'Amigo, what the hell happened to you? You just disappeared off the face of the world.'

Tony snorted, shaking his head. 'I sure wish I could, Sanchez. No, I spent yesterday shackled to the bed, and they moved me this morning to a solitary cell. Seems I'm a bad influence!'

'They're nuts,' Sanchez remarked. 'Amigo, I passed English. What do you think of that? I had to write an essay about a friend, so I wrote about Rodriguez, and I got a "C".' He grinned at Tony.

Tony found himself smiling back. 'That's great. I told you you could do it, didn't I? Hell, Sanchez, you can pass everything else too, if you passed English!'

Sanchez shook his head regretfully. 'No I can't. I would've needed your help.'

Tony sighed. 'Listen, try and read the explanations and look at the examples for your math, and you'll do ok. Are you alone now?'

'Yep, now I am. Wander who's coming.' He looked gloomy at the thought. 'You gonna speak to Perez tomorrow?'

Tony nodded. 'Yeah, if it's not raining.'

He exchanged nods with Gonzales the following morning as he stepped into the yard, searching the area carefully for the other group of Mexicans. They stood in a group at the opposite end of the yard, a couple of younger ones obviously on sentry duty. He drew a deep breath and walked straight over to them, noticing their eyes on him as he approached.

'What do you want?' demanded one of them, stepping directly in front of him.

'I wanna speak to Perez,' Tony said, allowing himself to be patted down.

'He's clean. Why do you want to speak to Signor Perez? He is a busy man,' demanded one of the lookouts.

'He doesn't look too busy to me,' Tony was unable to resist adding, wishing he had kept silent a moment later when they glared at him.

'It's ok, let him come,' called an authoritative voice, and the thugs parted ways for him to approach a middle aged man, clean shaven, with an air of discernable authority about him. 'Come closer. Try anything; my men will slit your throat immediately.'

'I haven't got any weapons,' Tony said, leaning against the wall casually. 'I came to talk, that's all. My name is…'

'We all know your name, Antonio Almeida,' Perez said, amused. 'You were a federal agent who got sent down for saving his wife from some terrorista, who brought some virus into the country. They called it treason.'

Tony rubbed his face, unsettled at their knowledge. He gazed at Perez, surprised to find him laughing.

'You wander how I know these things. I got many friends who owe me favors, agent, and I like information. And now you're here for the rest of your life. Hardly fair, is it?'

Tony chewed his lip, agreeing with him. 'I deserve to be here,' he said finally, gazing at the ground.

Perez laughed again. 'The hell you do. Anyone comes near my wife, they die, and so does their entire family,' he said fiercely. 'If you really think you deserve what you got, why did you try to run?' He fixed Tony with a curious stare.

Tony shrugged, returning his gaze. 'Guess I just can't stand being locked up,' he admitted quietly.

Perez nodded. 'You're honest. So what did you come to discuss with me today?'

Tony lifted his gaze, looking Perez directly in the eye. 'I'll speak honestly, ok?'

'Do, I'm real sick of the gringos' roundabout ways,' Perez told him.

'Far as I can tell, you're Mexicans imprisoned in the US, a foreign country. I don't know exactly why you're here, but that's hardly my business. I only know that since I've been here there've been two stabbings, one fatal, each one a Mexican against another Mexican. It's wrong, it's wasteful. We're not outside anymore, we're all stuck in here, and life is hell already, without adding to it.'

Perez nodded silently, waiting for him to continue.

'Fact is, the Aryan brothers are the real winners of this eternal conflict,' Tony continued. 'Every time one of you gets sent to the infirmary, the morgue, or the SHU, they get stronger. Don't you notice the guards tolerate your stabbings? Why do you think they do? They want you to get weaker. And you guys play right into their hands, like puppets on a string.'

'Watch it, agent,' Perez warned, in a dangerous tone.

Tony nodded, taking a deep breath. 'I didn't come here to offend you, Perez. I came to discuss a truce, just while you guys are all inside. That way you'll all make it, you'll be stronger, and you'll piss Supervisor Lee off!'

Perez frowned thoughtfully. 'Gonzales would never agree.'

'He would, if you do too,' Tony argued. 'You're responsible for your entire gang, I understand.'

Perez nodded firmly.

'Then you and Gonzales would have to meet alone, to talk,' Tony continued. 'Just you two, just the bosses.' He hoped the compliment would boost Perez's ego.

'I can see why you pissed the authorities off so much, back at Cromdale,' Perez told him after a few minutes of silence. 'You insult everyone and don't give up, and you're right, too.' He pointed a finger at Tony. 'This talk would have to be on neutral ground, him and me only. I need to be sure he won't have his men stab me.'

'I'll be there, to make sure he doesn't,' Tony said, satisfied with his diplomacy. 'After all, he's got no reason to trust you either.'

Perez actually laughed. 'He shouldn't. Why do you care anyway, agent? What's in this for you?'

Tony stood straighter, folding his arms. 'There's nothing in it for me. I'm just real sick of your constant killings. Mexicans aren't like that.'

'You know any?' Perez asked him, watching him.

'Yeah, my father is Mexican, from the north, before you ask. From a real small town, where people were friendly, where there wasn't anyone like you.' He shrugged apologetically. 'We could walk to town and get ice-creams and play with all the kids and it was safe. That's my image of Mexico, not what you're all doing.'

The silence stretched between them until Tony wandered whether he should leave, before Perez spoke again. 'I know what you're talking about, agent. I also remember such a place.' He looked at Tony. 'You're a good man, Almeida. I'll trust you to sit through my meeting with Gonzales. Have you got a place in mind?'

Tony nodded, having given the matter a considerable amount of thought. 'Sí. The dining hall. It's a place we all go to, and it's open. You'll be clearly visible, yet you can discuss the situation in private, over dinner.' He glanced at Perez to see how he was taking the suggestion.

Perez laughed aloud. 'You're worth every US dollar they paid you agent, before they sent you down. You can certainly talk. Hell, you almost make it sound like some business deal in a five star restaurant! Ok, I'll be there.'

Tony found himself smiling back. 'Gonzales will be there too, at the back table on the left hand side. The guards find it harder to walk there. It's the most private table in the area.'

Perez nodded again. 'You're not wrong, Almeida. You should have been a diplomat, or a spy.'

Tony nodded grimly and took a step forward. 'Till tonight, then.'

'You're in a hurry, agent,' Perez remarked. 'Alright, tonight. It's not a business deal, after all.' They nodded at each other and Tony left, taking a deep breath once he put a short distance between them.

_Whew! That was something! That man is as sharp as a razor blade. It's a shame he wasted his talents with crime. Almeida, look around you. It's a shame every one of these people wasted their talents._

His eyes searched the dusty yard for Sanchez, examining the individual groups of prisoners. Apart from the rival Mexican gangs there was a large crowd of Aryan Brothers, and crowds of individual prisoners who stood in groups. One man wandered the yard alone, speaking loudly to himself and stamping his feet. Tony's eyes rested on him for a few seconds before he caught sight of Sanchez, leaning against the wall, trying to look inconspicuous.

'Hi,' he said, joining him. 'It worked. We should go tell Gonzales.'

'Amigo, you're something else,' Sanchez told him proudly. 'I knew you could do it. Watch your back, though, those two Aryan brothers don't look like they've finished with us. They've been watching you as you walked back alone. I was getting scared there'd be a big fight again.'

Tony shook his head firmly. 'There won't be any more fights. I got a score to settle with one of them, but I'll do it alone, and not today. I've got to be present at this meeting tonight. Today we'll just have to lie low.'

The Aryan brothers passed close to them several times, and Tony was forced to work hard to prevent himself from punching the man who had spat at him. 'You two spics look a little lonely. Shame you were separated. Still maybe they'll put you in with us! We'd soon teach you how to behave!'

Tony turned his back, fighting to keep his temper in check. 'Did you hear that, spic? We'd take you apart, piece by piece.'

Tony took a deep breath and turned round. 'Listen carefully. You ever come near me, or him,' he pointed at Sanchez, 'and I'LL take YOU apart, and only a coroner could put your pieces back together.' He turned to walk away, fully expecting to have to fight after all, but Gonzales and the southern Mexicans arrived at that moment and the Aryan brothers left.

_God I'm SO SICK of this place. Sanchez is right, sooner or later there'll be another fight, and guess who'll be blamed? _Chewing his lip he joined the queue to return to the block.


	30. Chapter Thirty: The Truce

The meeting went better than Tony dared hope. He walked into the dining hall first and grabbed his tray, hurrying to the back table. Gonzales joined him a minute later, sitting facing the dining hall, eyes searching the crowd warily. Perez arrived soon after, sitting on the other side of the table.

'Ok, you guys, I'm glad to see you both honored your word and came,' Tony began. 'Now before we attract the attention of every guard in the entire block, we should discuss the truce. I suggest it should be real simple. No killing or injuring anyone in the rival gang while you're inside. That's fair enough, I guess?' _I hope!_

'What about his guy, who stabbed Lopez?' began Perez. 'Should he just get away with it?' He glared indignantly at Gonzales.

'And why not?' Gonzales exclaimed irritated. 'Palma was avenging Torres, whom your guy stabbed last month!'

'Ah, just a moment,' Tony began, aware neither man heard him. He banged his fist on the table. 'Wait a minute. I'm in charge of this meeting, right?' He glared at them both until they fell silent.

'Sí, you're neutral,' Perez agreed. Gonzales nodded silently.

Tony took a deep breath, rubbing his face. 'Listen for a second, then. If we're gonna sit here debating who killed who last, this dinner won't be long enough. You guys were killing each other for ages, that's why this Palma and Torres and Lopez and all the others were involved. This truce comes into effect tonight. Tonight, do you get it? That means that we put aside everything that happened before, and we stop all hostility from tonight.' They gazed at him, neither of them satisfied. 'Look, none of you are clean. What do you say?' He gazed at them, willing them to agree with him.

'I suppose the agent is right,' Perez said slowly. 'If we're gonna have a truce, we shouldn't start with revenge, or it would never work. What do you say, Gonzales? We start over, inside?'

Gonzales nodded. 'Sí. While we're inside, we have a truce. No killing, no stabbing, no fighting.' Slowly he held out his hand. Tony glanced rapidly at Perez, giving Gonzales an encouraging nod. Perez held his own hand out. 'Agreed.' They shook hands, and Tony nodded.

'Well done, guys. You saved a lot of lives tonight.' He noticed neither man seemed particularly impressed with it, so he added, 'and you sure as hell are about to piss a lot of gringos off.'

Both men smiled dangerously at each other, and Tony felt his forehead break out in sweat. He ignored it as best as he could, beginning his dinner. 'You guys should eat too, dinner time isn't long,' he advised.

'Nobody hears about this discussion,' Perez warned, glaring at the other two for emphasis. They shook their heads.

They ate rapidly, Gonzales finishing first. 'We should have had a drink, to celebrate the truce,' he remarked, getting up. 'See you later, Almeida. You should watch your back; your neighbors want to get you. I've ordered my men to watch you.'

'My men will watch you also,' Perez told him, not to be outdone.

'Gracias,' Tony said, meaning it. The crowd of hostiles in the yard worried him slightly, as he had no intention of being punished. He had visitors to look forward to, he had his books, and he was determined to avoid another taste of the stun baton. The siren wailed, and they carried their trays over to the counter. 'Do me a favor, would you? Keep an eye on Sanchez too. He's all alone here, and it's my fault. He got transferred for helping in my escape.'

'That goes without saying' Perez told him. 'Buenas noches, Almeida.'

'Buenas noches,' Tony replied, joining the queue back to the cells.

He brushed his teeth and lay down a few minutes before lights out, sorting through his thoughts. He saw Michelle's face before him, telling him she'd come to visit him soon, and Jack's face, as he ate his sandwich. Tony gave a wry grin and turned onto his stomach, closing his eyes. A clang on his bars startled him. He rolled over and sat up; wandering what the guards wanted that late.

'Convict Almeida, get dressed and face the wall. Move it,' ordered a young guard frowning at him impatiently. 'Right now,' he snapped at Tony who stared at him in surprise.

'I haven't done anything wrong,' Tony began, pulling on his t-shirt and jumpsuit. 'Where are you taking me?' His stomach knotted painfully as he pulled on his shoes and faced the wall, putting his hands on his head.

Neither guard answered him, pulling his arms down and placing them in cuffs. The stun baton was placed against his neck and he was ordered to move. To his dismay they left D Block through the door that led towards the front of the prison. They marched across several silent yards, into the administration block. Tony's apprehension increased. He was going to see the warden again, and he had a feeling he knew what the man wanted him for.

A guard knocked on a sturdy wooden door and Tony heard the warden's voice bidding them enter. The guard stepped inside first, then he was pushed through, and the second guard with the stun baton followed him inside. 'Sir, Convict Almeida,' said a guard, and the warden nodded.

'Alright Almeida, I don't intend to waste too much of my evening on you,' Warden Jeffries began. 'Tell me what you spics were discussing at dinner, and you can return to you cell.' He gazed sharply at Tony, his eyes threatening retribution if his wishes were ignored.

Tony shook his head puzzled. 'I don't see what you mean sir,' he began. 'We discussed Mexico, the west coast as far as Acapulco. We all had great holidays on the beach round there,' he lied, doubting whether the warden would believe a word.

'Bullshit,' snapped the irritated warden. 'I'm warning you once only, Almeida. Two rival gang leaders responsible for the most violent gangs in my prison don't just happen to sit and share a meal together. It looked like a meeting of some kind, to me. Now what the hell were you bandits discussing?'

Tony shook his head firmly. 'Just the beach, sir,' he said firmly. 'They're both a little homesick. You could ask them, they'll confirm it.'

'That's highly unlikely,' scoffed the warden. 'Unless of course you spics agreed on a lie in advance. I wouldn't put it past you. Almeida, you just had ten days in A-Seg, don't make me send you back.'

Tony gazed at him in silence, a blank expression on his face.

'Don't act stupid, convict,' snapped the warden, tapping his biro against his desk. 'I can make your life extremely unpleasant if you refuse to cooperate. Now for the final time, what were those gangsters discussing?'

_A-Seg, here I come!_ 'The beach, sir,' Tony repeated, his heart beating faster.

The warden made a sign, and a guard activated the stun baton. The three seconds the blast hit him seemed like three years to Tony, who felt himself go rigid, every nerve screaming in agony. He leaned against a chair, gasping for breath, sweat pouring from his face. The warden waited a few seconds. 'Alright, convict Almeida, that might have helped your poor memory. What did those bandits discuss?'

_Oh God, the man's evil! I can't take more of this_. The Mexican's face crossed his mind, lying doubled over with a knife in his stomach. He pressed his lips together, shaking his head. He saw the warden make a sign from the corner of his eye and took a deep breath, feeling a second shock hit him. It seemed the blast lasted longer this time, burning through him. He sank onto his knees, fighting to breathe. The room spun about him while he vomited up his dinner.

'You remember anymore of the conversation?' questioned the warden.

Tony prayed for divine intervention, shaking his head.

'Alright, convict, whenever you do remember something, just let a guard know, and you'll get your cell back. In the meantime, I've got just the person to put you in with.' He pulled a folder from his desk, opening the picture. 'I believe you're acquainted already. He was moved to minimum, but he lit a fire in the dormitory…'

Tony blinked, clearing his wet eyes to see the photo more clearly. He chewed his lip hard, seeing Summers' face.

'He arrived an hour ago. You two can catch up. He seemed interested to hear you were here also, Almeida.' The warden laughed in anticipation. 'Remember, anytime you recall what the conversation was about, just let a guard know. And another thing, convict. I don't tolerate violence – for any reason!' He looked meaningfully at Tony. 'I hear about you fighting in the cell, you'll go to A-Seg. for a week and lose your visiting privileges.'

'Yes sir,' Tony muttered, longing to strangle the man. How in the world could he even consider putting them in a cell together? "I hear about you fighting in the cell for any reason" well, he would hear about it everyday. Tony gave him a disgusted look as he turned to leave.

_Looks like you won't be seeing Michelle anytime soon, Almeida. Dammit, she was supposed to come in two and half weeks, and someone was supposed to come tomorrow…_

He followed the guards out of the administration block and across the yard, along a different route. Taking a deep breath he read the writing on the block they approached – C Block. Tony shook his head in despair. The only person he knew in the block was Summers, and it would have been far better to know no one. _Take a good look round the yard, Almeida; you probably won't see it again for months_!

They led him up a flight of stairs and along a catwalk, pausing him outside a cell which was unlocked. He moved to the back automatically, waiting for his cuffs to be removed. 'Remember, convict, the warden won't tolerate any trouble in the cells,' warned the young guard and they exited the cell. Tony glanced around, noticing Summers watching him from the top bunk. His belonging lay scattered round the cell, photos and papers crowding both shelves, his pile of prison clothes on the table. For a brief moment he considered sweeping the things off his shelf, but his belongings were still in D Block and he had nothing to replace them with, so he let it go. He pulled off his jumpsuit and t-shirt and climbed into the lower bunk, forcing his hatred for his cellmate aside.

'Agent Almeida,' Summers began in a whisper as soon as he'd crawled under the blanket. 'It's surprising, really, how many times we get to meet. This is the fourth time, if you think about it. One, the shopping mall, two, CTU, when you were the big shot boss, three, Cromdale Federal Prison, and now here. What a coincidence, don't you think?'

Tony rolled onto his side. He considered reminding Summers where they'd first met, but decided against it. He closed his eyes, leaving his ears open as though he were in a hostile war zone.

'Oh, I forgot. First time we met was back in the marines, remember? You had some other guy's pass, and I arrested you.'

Tony chewed his lip, using all his self control to refrain from making an angry retort.

'So you're sleeping right here with me tonight,' Summers teased, glancing over the edge of his bed. 'Wander who your wife's sleeping with?'

Tony leapt out of bed and grabbed the started pyromaniac by the neck. 'Let's get one thing clear right away, Summers. You ever mention my wife, in any way; I'll break your neck.' He gave him a final shake before he released him.

Summers made a few choking sounds before he settled. 'You're in deep shit, Almeida! Turn your back just once, you're dead.'

Tony clenched his fists, knowing it was true. 'Same applies to you, Summers. You ever close your eyes round me, you won't open them again. That should solve your fire lighting problems permanently.'

A loud clang startled them. 'Shut up, the pair of you. It's an hour after lights out. You've both got yourselves a D-report.' The guard glared at them warningly and continued on his way.

'Oh, that's too bad,' Summers said with a theatrical sigh. 'I guess your pretty wife won't get to drive over. It just brings you to tears, the thought of her so disappointed.' Tony remained silent, not wishing to risk further punishment. The guards were much too close for an angry retort. 'Well, she'll find someone to comfort her, though. A lonely agent who had a hard day…'

Tony leapt out of bed again, reaching for Summers. Summers was prepared this time, banging his head in the bunk's iron post. Tony swore under his breath and pulled his opponent from the top bunk, kicking him in the leg. Summers kicked him back, and Tony punched him, feeling a blow landing on his mouth, splitting his lower lip. He punched Summers harder, hearing the man's head bang against the wall. To his surprise Summers crumpled on the floor. After a moment he knelt down, feeling the man's neck. He appeared dazed. Unwilling to draw further attention to himself, Tony helped him back into his bunk and threw the blanket over him, before he climbed back into his own bed. He was scheduled for a visit tomorrow, and as long as the D-report he received wasn't processed soon enough he would see someone.

The night dragged by. Tony lay awake, unable to sleep, growing increasingly annoyed with each passing minute. He told himself he should sleep tonight as Summers was out and he had nothing to fear. He reminded himself of the shocks with the stun baton. Nothing helped. The day's events had been too much to handle. He felt the familiar longing he always experienced before a visit. Who would manage to drive the seven hours necessary to get there? That person would have to leave the day before and stay in the nearby town, as visiting period was in the morning between 9.00am and 11.00am.

_If anyone's come to see me, they'll be here already_. His heart ached at the thought of the close proximity of one of his relatives. _You put yourself here, remember, Almeida! And if you're honest with yourself, you can't blame the warden for wanting to know what's happening in his own prison!_

He fell asleep just before dawn, too exhausted to dream. The siren's wail woke him and he lay in bed for several seconds orienting himself. Above him the bunk swayed, and Summers climbed down, glaring at him. 'You're dead, Almeida!'

'You too,' Tony hissed, gathering his clothes and pulling them on.

'You consider yourself tough and cool, but you're just a scum, like the rest of us,' Summers told him. 'When are you gonna quit worrying about clean clothes, for example?' He picked up one of Tony's socks and threw it into the toilet.

Tony got up slowly, picked up Summers' white t-shirt, and threw it after his sock. 'You satisfied now, Summers?' he asked, pulling on his shoes, one over a sock, the other on his bare foot.

'You're an idiot, Almeida,' Summers muttered, pulling his t-shirt out. 'You're lucky I got a second one. Hope your shoe feels comfortable.'

Tony pulled his sock out silently and washed it in the basin, hanging it on his headboard to dry_. As though it's not bad enough locked up in a tiny cell, I got to have a nutcase with me! There wouldn't be any sympathy for me either, outside. After all, this is a prison, not a hotel! Oh God, why couldn't I just have been shot after Michelle got back, it would have been better._

He ate breakfast at a table of strangers who stared at him with thinly veiled hostility. Tony got through his porridge fast, longing to get away from the group. For the first time since his arrest he was actually looking forward to being returned to his cell.

Time passed slowly back in his cell as he waited for his visit. He sat on his bunk and stared through the bars, ignoring Summers' insults. Tony had a strong feeling this would be his last visitor for a long time. He needed to get as much kindness as he could to last him weeks in A-Seg, or possibly the SHU.

'Please let someone come,' he prayed silently, sick with anticipation.


	31. Chapter Thirty One: Long Awaited Visit

Tony sat on his bunk, holding his letters in his hand, glancing through them. The bunk was the only place he felt secure within the cell, as he could prevent Summers dragging him out and hitting him. His face wore his usual inscrutable expression as he waited impatiently for visiting period to begin, praying someone would come to see him. A movement distracted him; he saw Summers throw a handful of his books on the floor. Tony got up, gathered them up and placed them on his shelf; wandering where he would find them should he be permitted a visit.

_Focus on the visit, Almeida! You'll have to deal with this bastard later._ He felt a rough push from behind and slipped, slamming his face into the bunk's post. Tony spun around, punching Summers in the stomach before he climbed onto his bunk, rubbing the side of his face. A streak of blood remained on his hand. He slid his legs over the edge slowly, moving cautiously to the basin to wash his face_. Dammit! Whoever comes will see this, and the split lip._

He began to hope that maybe he had no visitor after all when a guard arrived outside the cell. 'Convict Almeida, hands behind your back. Step outside.' Tony did as he was told; waiting silently while the door was slammed behind him and a second guard placed him in cuffs. He was led to join a short queue just before the steel door.

'Alright, you scum; you've still got people who wanna see you! Now remember the rules, or your visit will be terminated. Let's go.'

They filed out of the block silently, each of them struggling with their private excitement. For the tenth time since he was removed from his cell, Tony wandered who had come. His heart hammered in his chest as he followed the men in front of him, longing to push them a little faster.

His eyes lit up as he settled in his chair, ignoring the guard who secured his leg to its leg. 'Hey, Papa. Hi, princess.'

He could see his eleven year old niece bouncing on his father's knee, chatting. Mr. Almeida told her something and handed her the phone. 'Hi Uncle Tony. Grandpa brought me. I get to miss two days of school, though I'm not supposed to tell anyone where I've been. Mom will write that I had a cold. Where's the door?' she began, her words rushing out of her.

Tony found himself smiling more broadly, watching her. This was the child he had helped raise for several years, he had missed her chatter. 'Sweetie, there's no door,' he told her gently.

'But I wanna come sit on your lap,' Sandy protested. 'I'm not too old!'

Tony saw his father open his mouth, wishing he could hear what he said. The child looked disappointed. 'Sandy, what have you been doing?' he asked, longing to hear her voice again.

Sandy drew a deep breath and spoke for ten straight minutes about school and tennis, and her friends, and her dog, while he listened spellbound, forcing himself to remember it all, so he could replay it again later. 'What happened to your face, Uncle Tony?' she asked, settling against his father's arm.

Tony had noticed his father scrutinizing his face while the child spoke, seeing his anticipation of the answer. 'Ah, there was a little fight.'

Mr. Almeida spoke to the child for a moment and she grabbed the phone from his hand. 'I'm gonna go over to that chair and give you guys a coupla minutes,' she said, and walked away.

'Antonio, you don't look good,' his father began, as he had known he would. 'What the hell happened to you?'

His gaze followed Tony's, and he knew a vague answer would never satisfy him. 'You wanna hear it all? I got moved to another block, coz I pissed off the warden,' he lowered his voice, 'when I organized a truce between a couple of Mexican gangs. The guy they threw me in with is one I sent down, and I'll be forced to deal with him real soon. I guess you guys won't be able to visit for a while.'

His father shook his head, distressed. 'If I didn't see this for myself, I wouldn't believe things like this could happen here.'

'Yeah well, they do.' Tony fell silent, watching his father, who clearly had more to say. He sighed quietly, feeling his concern through the glass.

'What Mexicans?'

'Some mafia guys, from the north and the south…' he began.

His father let out a strangled gasp. 'Tony! You "organized a truce?" Hell, the government has been trying to deal with them longer than you were alive. How did you manage it?' Tony shrugged, nodding his head towards the guard in the booth. His father gave him a slight nod. 'It's incredible, anyway. Why aren't they pleased with you?' He also nodded towards the guard.

'Coz these guys aren't watching each other all the time anymore, so now they turned their attention to other gangs.'

His father shook his head again. 'But it's hardly your fault.' They contemplated each other in silence for a moment. 'Oh, Jack came by, just before I left. He said they caught Aziz and the entire cell. They're being returned to the States, as they're US citizens. Jack says "well done." I don't know how you done it, Tony, but I'm real proud of you.'

Pride shone from his face, bringing a lump to Tony's throat. He shrugged awkwardly. 'I just remembered some things I was working on.'

'Tony, I brought you a couple of packets of cookies,' his father continued. Tony blushed, suspecting Jack told them about the sandwich.

'Gracias,' he said softly, wandering whether he would be left in the cell long enough to eat any. A silence grew between them. 'Where's mom?' he questioned.

'She was going to come too, but there was an emergency at the hospital. She sends you many hugs and kisses, and she'll definitely come next time.'

He nodded. 'Tell her I love her too,' he said slowly, sorry she hadn't been able to come. 'Don't tell her about this,' he pointed to his face.

His father sighed heavily. 'Antonio, your mother and I spoke a lot about you this week. We agreed that it's wrong for you to be here all by yourself. You're obviously not doing well, and you're lonely.'

Tony shook his head. 'That applies to everyone here, Papa. I'm ok.'

His father shook his head, holding up a hand. 'No, you're not. Listen for a bit. I can't just come and talk to you for an hour, see you sick or beat-up, and then walk away from you. I can't get through the month wandering if someone's hurting you right at the moment. I can't go back to work as though this isn't happening. I just can't do it anymore.'

Tears pricked the back of Tony's eyes, which he angrily blinked away. 'It's ok,' he forced himself to say, struggling to keep his voice even. 'I understand. Will you write to me sometime?'

Mr. Almeida gave a strangled sound. 'Antonio! Did you think I meant I wasn't coming again?' He shook his head vigorously. 'NO. I've got something else in mind. Now I know you're not gonna like it much, but your mom and I agreed. We've had our fun, we've raised our children. They're all doing ok. Your mom's got enough to live on comfortably, and she's still working for a coupla years. She's got all your sisters to help her; John can organize tradesmen if the house needs fixing…'

'I already don't like it,' Tony interrupted. 'Why would mom be "alright?" What about you?'

His father drew a deep breath, glancing behind him to check the child was still in the room. 'I'll join you,' he said softly.

'What?' Tony exclaimed, horrified. 'This isn't a hotel, they won't let you in!'

Behind the glass, his father gazed at his hands, examining them in great detail. 'I'll think of something, don't you worry. I won't have people beat you up. They wanna fight; they'll have two to deal with.'

Tony shook his head, growing agitated. 'Papa, you gotta stop this instant,' he began. 'You don't know what this place is like, I never told you. It's hell. They keep you in cuffs wherever you go. They put these stun batons to your neck, you've never felt one. It feels like you're burning up all over your body, you can't even breathe. There's crowds of thugs who can't think of anything they wanna accomplish more than beat the crap out of you, just coz you're around. The guards are on their side mostly. While they beat you, they look the other way, but if you manage to fight back they show up and punish you. If they decide you looked at them wrong you get only a portion of your meal, so you're real hungry…' His voice trailed off. 'You can't go anywhere, or see anything.'

'All the more reason for someone to be with you,' his father remarked.

Tony shook his head, struggling to make his father comprehend just what he was considering. 'Papa, please don't. I'm ok here; I can manage if I'm alone. I couldn't watch them hurt you. Mom wouldn't really be ok. Besides Jack might get me out,' he added, not believing it, but hoping to delay his father. 'He might even do it, you know. You should wait a while.'

'And what if something happens to you while we wait?' his father pressed him. 'You think I could live with that, Tony?'

'I'll be ok, Papa,' he said firmly, looking into his father's eyes. 'I've been inside five months now, and I'm basically ok. Call Jack, please.' He fell silent, knowing he needed to speak to his friend too.

His father gazed at him in silence. 'Listen, Tony, we'll make a deal. If you look bad when I next come, I won't wait any longer.'

Tony nodded firmly; knowing the next visit would be months away. 'Yeah,' he agreed. 'How's everyone else?' he inquired, hating the need to ask. He had called them all every week, to make certain for himself, in his old life.

'They all ok now. Marco's back in the Gulf. They're going on active duty tomorrow and…'

The phone cut out suddenly. Tony frowned and gazed at it, knowing he still had at least half his visit. On the other side of the glass his father tapped his phone too, shaking his head puzzled. A guard appeared beside Tony, carrying handcuffs.

'Hands behind your back, convict, or you'll get a taste of the stun baton,' he warned as Tony continued to gaze at the glass.

'But I've still got some time left,' he protested, placing his hands behind him automatically. The cuffs were secured and his leg was freed.

'Get up. Your visit has been terminated.'

'Why?' he demanded, nodding his head past his father. It seemed his father understood. He called Sandy, and she came running to the glass, a puzzled look on her face. Tony watched her asking something, clearly dissatisfied, before she waved goodbye. He nodded at her, smiling, wishing he could wave back. Once again his eyes met his father's, for the briefest of instants, before the guard grabbed his shoulder and spun him around. He walked towards the door, aware of the stun baton resting on his neck, not daring to risk another taste of it. His hands moved under the cuffs, attempting to wave to the child, before the door opened and he was pushed out.

Tony was ordered to stop before a counter where an annoyed supervisor sat. 'Why the hell did you stop my visit?' he demanded, furious.

'Convict, you have no right to classified information.' He gave Tony a hard stare.

'My brother's been there for years,' Tony protested. 'I served there too.' He bit his lip hard, to prevent himself from asking whether the guard had done anything beyond sit in the booth.

'Your visiting privileges have automatically been cancelled for the next three months,' he informed Tony in a bored voice. 'You were warned of the rules, convict,' he said, placing his headphones over his ears.

Tony shook his head in disgust, imagining his father's distress. A terrible thought crossed his mind. What if his father drove home assuming he was being punished again? _I need to write him a letter immediately. _

Summers was out in the yard when he returned to his cell. Tony moved to the back and waited while his cuffs were removed before he moved over to his bunk, deciding he would write his letter while he had the opportunity to do so undisturbed. His shelf was empty. He rubbed his eyes a moment, knowing he had his pile of letters from his family, but they were gone. Only his books remained on top of each other. Tony climbed the top bunk, searching through Summers' things, but his letters were not among them. Eventually his search yielded a torn scrap of paper still floating in the toilet. His hands clenched into fists as a wave of rage swept through him. All his letters were senselessly destroyed, including the last one from Bobby. He leaned against the wall in the corner, struggling to control himself, longing to rip every one of Summers' possessions apart.

_Focus Almeida. You got to write a letter to your father immediately, you haven't got time to do anything else_. He chewed his lip, grabbed a notebook and ripped out a page. Tony settled at the table and wrote a short letter, insisting he was fine and begging his father to stay at home for a while.

A terrible weariness took him once he finished the letter. He folded it and placed it inside an envelope, leaving it open to be read by the censor. Experience taught him any sealed envelope ended up in a bin. Rubbing his eyes he climbed into his bunk, resolved to have a short nap while he had a little peace. "I wish we could go to the beach again, Uncle Tony." He swallowed hard, pulling the blanket up to his chin. _So do I, princess, so do I._

He lay with his eyes shut, close to sleep but unable to relax, picturing the child. "Uncle Tony, why is mommy sick?" Tony had scratched his face, thinking up a suitable reply. "It just happens sometimes, princess."

"Will she ever get better?"

He had nodded firmly. "Sure she will. It just takes a while. How about we surprise her when she comes out of hospital? I'll teach you to swim like a fish." He had collected her from his parents' house every evening after work in his early days at CTU, taking her either to the beach or the pool, watching her progress. Once again he swallowed his tears down.

A loud clang pulled him back to the present. Blinking, he climbed out of bed and faced the door with his hands behind his back, taking in the uniform of the corrections officer who had come to speak with him. He waited in silence while the block supervisor regarded him, wandering what the man wanted.

'Convict Almeida, are you ready to talk about the Mexican gangs yet?' questioned the official, looking through Tony.

Tony's eyes closed for the briefest of seconds. 'I already told the warden what we discussed, sir.'

The supervisor nodded. 'I see.' He shook his head, pursing his lips. 'Now convict Almeida, I won't turn a blind eye to your poor behavior today, as I did yesterday. We have a strict rule of zero tolerance towards aggression in this prison. If any of my guards catch you bullying your cellmate, I'll be forced to deal with the matter immediately. Is that perfectly clear, convict?'

Tony nodded. 'Yes sir. What about if he attacks me? Will you deal with him too, or are you just watching me?' He read a flash of anger in the supervisor's eyes.

'How dare you insinuate that my guards are biased against you, convict? They are highly trained professionals who work under extremely trying conditions. We treat all prisoners fairly, showing favoritism to none. I understand you were found guilty of a rules violation during your visit this morning. Your visits have been cancelled for the next three months. I also have a D-report before me which was written up last night. What punishment do you suggest I hand out?' He smiled maliciously.

'A week in the strip cell,' Tony suggested, deciding he needed a little peace.

The man laughed. 'What, and deprive two old acquaintances of spending a little time together? No, convict, you stay here. You're on reduced rations for the next five days. See you don't annoy me further.'

He walked back down the catwalk, while Tony returned to bed, sick at heart.


	32. Chapter Thirty Two: Price Of Silence

'You remember anything further?' questioned a guard as he unlocked the bathroom. He gave Tony a meaningful look.

He chewed his lip, shaking his head. 'No, sir.'

The guard also shook his head. 'You're a fool, convict. Go stand against that wall,' he ordered, pointing to the far side of the bathroom. 'Make any movement, you'll feel the baton,' he threatened, watching as Tony walked over to the other side of the room and faced the wall.

He saw the shadow of the guard beckoning the other nine convicts over but failed to hear what he told them. _Almeida, watch out. This guard is giving them permission to deal with you right here. As though that bastard Summers needs any encouragement._ He felt his body tense, preparing for an inevitable fight. Despair rushed through him. He had been punished several times that day already, starting with his visit being terminated in the morning, to being placed on reduced rations shortly after returning to his cell. Two guards had caught Summers beating him, watching until he retaliated before banging on the door. Tony had been written up for another D-report, while nothing was said to Summers, and the supervisor had arrived an hour later, informing him of the loss of yard time for an entire week. _They're really out to get you, Almeida. Hang in there. Sooner or later they'll run out of 'privileges' they can remove and they'll be forced to sentence me to a week in A-Seg._ He found himself longing to spend a week in the cage to rest his aching body.

'Convict Almeida, you may return now. Remove your clothes,' ordered the guard. Tony shuffled across the bathroom, removed his clothes and threw them in the large basket with the other prisoners. He shivered slightly in the damp cold, waiting for the order to turn the taps on.

The guard moved to the back of the bathroom, chatting to his colleague while the prisoners waited, arms pressed against their sides. 'Alright, turn the taps on,' one ordered finally and they turned the water on, the cold making Tony gasp. No matter how well he prepared his body for a sudden drenching in icy water his heart never failed to beat harder. He watched the hair rise along his arms, reaching for the soap, resolving to wash quickly and get dressed.

A hand grabbed the soap before he could reach it, pushing it into his eyes, while he received a sharp kick from behind simultaneously. Unable to see, he still managed to keep his balance, turning his face upwards, knowing he needed to rinse his eyes to save himself. Another couple of kicks landed on his legs, and he was slammed into the tiles before he rinsed enough soap out to see. Leaning against the tiles he defended himself, kicking two of his attackers down. Six of the men attacked him together, blows reaching him from every direction until inevitably he slipped, banging his knee hard. His beating began in earnest once he was down. All nine took it in turns to kick or punch him, Summers slamming his head into the ground. Tony was unable to rise under the assault, managing to kick a few. The icy water rained down on him, washing away a thin trickle of blood from his nose. Pressing his eyes shut he fought to slow the spinning world enough to see the next blows.

'That will do,' called a guard, moving close to the showers. 'You've got two minutes to wash.' The prisoners moved away from him, leaving him alone on the ground. 'Convict Almeida, get up at once. You look disgraceful. You should learn to share the soap.'

Tony pushed himself up slowly, feeling a stinging in his lower lip. Dark blood remained on his hand when he touched it. He stood under the icy stream, hoping to numb the pain and lower the swelling he could already feel. Lowering his head he took short breaths under the water, steadying his breathing.

'Ok, that's enough,' yelled the guard, and they turned the taps off. Tony stumbled over to a towel, patting himself dry. He pulled on his fresh clothes, struggling to keep his dinner inside. The prisoners lined up, hands behind their backs, being led out of the bathroom by four new guards. 'Convict Almeida, stop,' ordered a guard, and Tony waited, left alone with the original two. 'That was a warning, convict. Next time I might not notice and intervene so soon. You'd do well to recall a little more of your conversation with the Mexicans. Now move it.'

He stumbled back to his cell, the world swaying slightly under his feet. The moment his cuffs were removed he sank onto the bed, curling into a ball. Summers stared at him for a moment before sitting at the table and reading a book. Tony pressed his eyes shut, leaving his ears 'on duty.' Every part of him ached – he felt dangerously close to tears which he fought against. Mercifully the lights dimmed minutes later. He felt the bunk sway as Summers climbed up.

'You'll get bashed again tomorrow, Agent Almeida,' Summers told him cheerfully. 'The guards don't like you!' He chuckled cheerfully to himself for a while.

Tony awoke stiff and sore, every part of his body aching. Sitting up required intense effort, but he dared not remain in bed after the siren wailed. Breathing heavily he pulled his t-shirt and jumpsuit on, returning to sit on his bunk, his back against the wall. When the doors opened he stood silently in the queue before Summers, totally uninterested in the prospect of food.

'Convict Almeida, to the back,' snapped a guard. 'You're on reduced rations, remember? You don't get to go in with the others.'

Tony was forced to wait outside the dining hall with three other inmates until all the prisoners had filed in, before a guard allowed them through. He found half a plate of porridge on his tray with a glass of lukewarm water. Swallowing carefully he managed to keep everything down, using the water to clear his mouth of the taste of porridge when it became too much to cope with. Nobody spoke to him, though a few glanced in his direction.

Back in his cell he again curled onto his bed, waiting for yard time when Summers would leave for a couple of hours_. Please God, I need a letter. Let me get a letter today._ Time passed slowly and he dared not allow his eyes to close, having noticed a strange gleam from Summers.

'Convict Almeida, get up, I won't tell you again,' snapped a stern voice, and Tony opened his eyes, startled to find he had almost fallen asleep. He crawled off his bunk and stood by the door even before he realized the guard was carrying mail. The guard threw him an irritated look and pushed two letters through the slot. 'Not that you deserve it,' he remarked, before leaving. Tony said a silent prayer of thanks and carried them back with him to his bunk, laying them beside the wall. One was in unfamiliar handwriting, whilst his heart leapt on seeing the other. Trembling fingers pulled the papers from the already opened envelope.

_Hi Sweetheart_

_I've almost finished unpacking. I'll be glad when it's over; it'll be good to just get my clothes from the cupboard again, watch my own TV. Still, the work is hard; I really wish I could discuss it all with you. Remember how we used to curl up on the couch after a long day and just talk? So many times, when I'm tired I sit there and speak aloud, and try and imagine what your answers would be. They've really got to let you out, Tony. Seattle's lovely – I didn't realize until now how much I hated seeing the same faces here, all those who condemned you._

_Now sweetheart, close your eyes and lay your head down. I'm right there with you, can you feel me? Can you feel my hair brushing your face? I'm giving you a real deep kiss._

_I love you, honey. Hang in there, and I'll see you real soon. _

_Michelle_

He hugged the letter close to himself, his eyes burning. Yes, he could imagine her giving him a deep kiss. Eyes pressed shut; he could almost feel her tongue in his mouth. After Summers left the cell for yard time he allowed himself to fall asleep, still clutching her letter on which a faint trace of her perfume lingered. He dreamed of her, seeing her shy smile as they worked at CTU together before either of them had the courage to admit their feelings.

The second envelope contained a short note which he read when Summers' return awoke him. Half of it was blacked out with a thick pen, carelessly in a few places. Tony was no longer able to manage a smile, but the words still brought a lump to his throat.

_Lieutenant Almeida_ (the title was crossed out and had the word 'convict' written over it)

_Your arrest distressed all of us who served under you. There's still five of us left from the time when you led us on those patrols, everyone else has retired since. We haven't had anyone as decent as you since you resigned. I resolved to come and visit you, but those_ (a thick black line blotted out the next word)_ wouldn't let me in! They said immediate family members only! I argued eight years together on desert patrol qualified me, but they wouldn't buy that._

_How can we help you, sir? Think about it for a while. It's a shame you never got round to take up my invitation to my summer cottage, which is still well stocked._

_Koskinen_

Tony chewed his lip, understanding precisely what his silent sergeant was asking. "You want out, sir? How can we help you?" He rubbed his face, reading the last line again. Koskinen had mentioned his summer cottage several times – he knew its precise location. It was plainly being offered as a hide out, should he decide to escape.

_Well, you're the second person offering assistance. I don't deserve such kindness from you._ He swallowed again, amazed to find people who still wished him well outside. After reading both letters several times he buried them under his mattress while Summers slept. Softly he picked up the book Marco had brought him and read another escape.

_What happens when Palmer's term concludes, and I'm not released? Do I try and survive here for years, waiting till someone kills me, or the conditions do? Or do I try and run for it one last time?_

To his dismay six guards appeared on his row after dinner. 'Alright, you scum; you get an extra shower this week. Move it.' Five doors opened while he fought his panic down. _What the hell? They NEVER allow anyone to shower more than once a week, often missing a couple! I'm gonna be beaten up again._ He remained on his bunk, watching the others stand in a row outside, deciding the strip cell was preferable to another beating.

'Convict Almeida, what the hell's your problem?' yelled a guard. 'Get outside and join the queue this instant, or you'll regret it!'

_Not as much as if I do_. He remained on his bunk, back against the wall, knees pressed up to his chest. _Better if you beat me and take me to the strip cell, it still won't be as bad…_

'I see one movement from anyone, it's the strip cell,' warned a guard, entering Tony's cell with his partner. 'Up, Almeida,' he ordered, mercilessly.

'No,' Tony whispered, without bothering to shake his head. The word rolled strangely off his tongue, as he had never refused an order before.

The guards looked incensed. One reached inside and pulled him out while the other withdrew his stun baton. Tony pressed his eyes shut, unable to watch as it was placed against his _neck Oh no please don't. Focus Almeida, focus. It's gotta happen before they move you, you know that._

He was given a small shock and hauled to his feet the moment the world steadied slightly. Cuffs were placed on him and he was pushed outside, the stun baton resting on his neck all the way to the shower. The convicts undressed rapidly, throwing their pile of clothes into the large basket while Tony leaned against a wall, forcing his breathing to steady. A guard removed his cuffs and he was stripped roughly as he made no move to do so. The water was turned on and he was given a rough push to the shower, being knocked over before he could reach the stream of water.

Once again he faced nine prisoners, even managing to get up for a brief moment before he was knocked down again. He felt some ribs break, and his head was slammed into the tiles with such force he felt vague surprise he remained alive. A kick to his stomach felt as though it tore all the way through him, his head was slammed against the ground a second time. He opened his mouth for a gasp of air, filling it instead with blood and icy water. Coughing up blood he crawled against the wall, expecting to die.

'That's enough. Shower is over,' announced a guard in a bored tone. The water ceased pouring over him, and the prisoners moved to dry themselves, leaving him unable to move. Tony felt all his warmth draining into the wet tiles, turning numb. 'Convict Almeida, get up, up, up…'

Tony opened his eyes, disappointed to find he was still alive. He lay wrapped in a blanket in a dimly lit cell. He turned his head slowly, rewarded by a violent throbbing in his temple. The room spun sickeningly round him. Tony's eyes shut instantly and he lay still, breathing through the pain. No one came near him as the hours passed. He felt himself sinking through the mattress and lost consciousness.

'What do you think? He still alive?'

'Sure. Bastard's just pretending. He can hear every word we're saying. Convict Almeida, you don't have to open your eyes, you can keep them closed and miss your dinner again, but you WILL go and have another shower tomorrow unless you decide to talk before then.'

'Sir, he looks like he needs a doctor,' said a guard nervously. 'His head's broken.'

'Bullshit,' said the supervisor's voice. 'He's got a mild concussion, that's all. If he decides to talk on your patrol, lemme know.' They left the room while Tony fought and failed to open his eyes. Too exhausted to worry, he decided to leave them shut.

'Alright, Almeida, it's been four days now,' said a guard's voice, rolling him onto his side and pulling his arms behind his back. 'Talk now, coz you're on your way to the shower.'

Tony's stomach gave a dry heave as he was dragged out of bed, collapsing in a heap on the floor.

'That won't help you, convict. We have orders to drag you all the way, if you won't come,' said the same voice, pulling him along. He was dragged along the floor and down a corridor and into the shower block, hearing several voices. The guard removed his cuffs and his underwear, the whole process taking less than a minute as he hadn't been dressed in anything more.

'You may begin,' the supervisor's voice boomed, echoing in the bathroom and reverberating through his head. A guard laid him on the floor under the tap and the icy water was switched on. Tony struggled to formulate his thoughts, trying to say a final silent prayer.

'Why the hell don't you begin?' snapped the supervisor, and he noticed the others standing under the water immobile, making no movement towards him. 'You'll all get the strip cell. What the hell's wrong with you?'

'Sir, it's the Mexicans,' one convict admitted softly. 'They'll kill us all, skin us alive, they said, and our families, and burn our homes, if we touch Almeida.'

'The Mexicans are in another block, they can't get to you. Deal with Almeida at once, or you'll wish you did,' ordered the outraged supervisor.

No movement was taken towards him. 'Sorry sir, the Mexicans don't have no law they need to follow,' said a convict quietly.

'Shower is over,' announced the supervisor, and Tony sank more comfortably against the wet tiles. 'Everyone has the strip cell for ten days.'

They filed past him, Summers turning and kicking him in the head. A wave of agony spread through Tony and he drifted off again.

He awoke in a dark room, unable to see anything though he was certain his eyes were open. Terror struck him as he remembered the final kick. Surely he was ok? A sob escaped him as he struggled against dizziness to sit up. A clang told him his leg was secured to the bed before he felt the restrains. Struggling against an overwhelming urge to scream he forced himself up.

'Easy,' ordered a familiar voice, and gentle hands lowered him. 'Don't try to move, you got a severe concussion. Just lie still, its ok now.'

'I can't see anything,' Tony rasped, feeling dizzy.

'No, your eyes are bandaged, and its pitch dark in here. It's necessary for the concussion, you understand. Now lie still and let me reattach this tube. It's supposed to be absolutely silent here too, Almeida, so I'll explain this once, and then sedate you. You got a real bad head injury, which should be dealt with in a proper hospital, but they won't move you, so I'm doing my best, without any equipment a neurosurgeon would use in this case. All I can do is what a doctor would do a hundred years ago, keep you quiet. Now you can talk, you can move, you can hear me, that's excellent. I'm hoping you'll be ok, despite my poor efforts. Oh, I also fixed a few ribs, and your stomach has almost stopped bleeding. Now lie still, ok.'

Slightly reassured, he allowed himself to drift off again.


	33. Chapter Thirty Three: Return To D Block

'You want to tell me about it?' Dr Lahti inquired, opening the blinds. Sunlight flooded inside the room, warming Tony's face.

'There's nothing to tell,' Tony replied, raising his left hand to rest on the bandage round his eyes. 'Do these come off too?'

'They do. It's gonna be a little bright at first,' the doctor warned him, moving to draw the blinds halfway. 'That's better, I guess. Now lie still.' Tony lay back; feeling a long bandage circling his head unwrapped. 'Keep your eyes closed for a minute, let them adjust.'

Tony opened his eyes slowly a minute later, blinking in the dim light. 'Well, how's your vision?' The doctor hovered over him anxiously, holding a small lamp.

'Its fine,' Tony assured him. 'Look, can you wait a while with that lamp?'

'Sure,' the doctor agreed, pulling a chair beside the bed. 'I wasn't even aware they transferred you till they brought you down last week, Almeida. I've had the warden himself down here, insisting on extra security round you. Seems you've got quite a reputation, since your escape!'

'Undeserved,' Tony snorted. 'It's not exactly going to make any escape books! What about you, why are you here?'

'Warden Brownlow gave me a choice, basically, either I apply for a transfer here, or I get fired,' Dr Lahti remarked. 'We had a slight disagreement on the availability of prescription drugs. You ready to let me examine your eyes now?'

'Yeah,' said Tony, doing his best to gaze at the small light. 'You mean you wanted to treat sick people?'

'Putting it into plain English, yes,' said the doctor, nodding in satisfaction. 'That eye's fine. Let me check the other one.'

'You got replaced by someone who understands the value of saving,' Tony couldn't resist adding. 'He removed a bullet with barely any anesthetic. Guess he and Brownlow will make a good team.'

'I expect so. Almeida, I'm sorry I can't bring you a TV here, you've got a guard stationed outside the room, and he would certainly forbid it.'

'It's ok,' Tony said disappointed. 'There's one thing you could do for me, doctor. It would mean a lot to me.' He gazed hopefully at the doctor, wandering how decent he was.

'Ask,' sighed the doctor, replacing his lamp.

'I need to write a letter to my parents that won't get censored. It's ok, it's not about anything bad, it's just family…It's no one else's business.' His head remained on the pillow while his eyes followed the doctor's expression.

'That would get me fired without fail,' Lahti told him. Tony nodded, feeling his final hope drain from him. Slowly he turned away from the doctor and faced the wall. 'I guess my father will come join me then.'

'What?' asked the doctor, greatly surprised.

'Why would you care?' Tony muttered, examining the bricks. 'He just can't bear to see me here alone; he thinks he could help me if he got sent here. I know him, he wouldn't last a month! He'd kill the first person who laid a hand on me – he wouldn't understand you get hurt all the time here…'

'Write your letter,' Dr. Lahti told him, getting up rapidly. 'I'll post it.' He laid a pen on the bed and returned a short while later with a couple of sheets of paper folded neatly under his white coat. 'Take your time; I'll be back just before dinner. The guard might look in though,' he warned.

'Thanks,' Tony said, writing, deep in thought, his ear listening for anyone turning the handle.

_Dear Mom and Papa_

_Don't ask how this letter got out, just accept it. I can't even tell you how much I miss you guys. It's harder than when I was deployed in the Gulf, because then I knew when my next leave was due, and I could call you whenever I felt like it (almost every evening). This is so much harder to take as I know you are really quite close._

_Right now I'm fine, apart from feeling sorry for myself. I'm in a cell all by myself and it's pretty quiet._ He sighed, wandering just how far the truth could be stretched before it became a blatant lie. _You mustn't worry about me. Apart from having lost my visiting privileges for a while, I'm ok. I can still receive mail and it would be great if you'd send some food._

_Papa, you mustn't think of coming to join me! Just listen till the letter's over, please. Jack keeps promising he'll get me a pardon, so I'm fully prepared to wait till the president's last day, if I have to. If he won't grant me one, I've got another plan, one I've got a little time to perfect. I'm going to run for it again, only this time I'll do better. I really need to get some coffee soon! _

_I haven't had as much as a smell of it since my arrest. Remember when you had to take me with you to the office, Papa, when I was five, and you were talking to a client, and I managed to spill the whole contents of the coffee machine on this brand new carpet? That was my first cup, and I've had one every day since, so it's real hard to live without._

_Please write soon, it's the only thing I wait for in the mornings. I love you both_

_Tony _

He wrote a short letter to Jack, outlining his father's plans and begging him to go and speak to his parents. The final letter was to Michelle, assuring her of his love, repeating his words that everything he faced was worth it in repayment for her life. He placed all three letters under his blanket when he was finished and closed his eyes, resting, aware his time in the infirmary was limited.

Two guards came for him three days later, watching while he dressed. Tony pulled on a clean uniform, grateful to the doctor for his long rest and the shower he had been permitted to take that morning by himself. Bending down he pulled his shoes on, aware of the guards' growing impatience. 'Move it, convict.'

The doctor was off duty when he walked through the infirmary. He felt sorry leaving without thanking him, but he had no choice. His footsteps echoed down the silent corridor as they left the infirmary and headed into the administration block. Guards hurried about along the main floor, paying no attention to him as he was led outside and across the first courtyard. Heart beating rapidly, he followed his guards, relieved to notice them heading to D Block.

Tony was handed over to another pair of guards from the block and they glanced at a computer while he waited, facing the wall. 'Alright Almeida, lets go,' one said finally, and he was pulled around. He followed them across the floor, noting the interest his return generated. The guards began to climb the metal staircase and he followed, noting he wasn't being placed in a single cell. They climbed past the second floor and continued upwards. Tony found himself hoping he would be locked up with Sanchez again, aware of his general weakness. The climb up to the third floor exhausted him.

The leading guard paused outside his old cell, running his card through the slot. A faint buzz sounded and the door swung open, pulled wider by the guard. 'Face the wall, convict,' he ordered, and Tony waited while his cuffs were removed, his face blank. He waited while the guards left before allowing a grin on his face. 'Hi, Sanchez.'

'Amigo,' Sanchez exclaimed, shaking his hand vigorously. 'You're still alive! We heard what they were doing to you. Sit down.' He helped Tony into a chair. 'You look awful.'

'Yeah,' Tony agreed. He sank into the chair, struggling to keep his eyes open. 'How've you been? How's the truce holding up?'

'I'm fine, and so is the truce,' Sanchez informed him. 'Look, why don't you lie down and get some sleep? I'll get you up in time for dinner.'

Tony nodded and stumbled over to his bunk, Sanchez having to help him climb up. 'She's still here,' his friend told him, pulling back the blanket to reveal the photo. Tears filled Tony's eyes as he lifted it gently, placing her beside his face. 'All your books are back too, but I don't know what happened to your letters,' Sanchez continued.

'They're gone,' he said bitterly, closing his eyes.

Sanchez woke him just before dinner, watching silently while he climbed down and put on his shoes. 'Why did they stopped beating me?' Tony inquired, glancing at him. 'They said something about some Mexicans? How come I got returned here, to you? The warden sure isn't pleased with me!'

Sanchez glanced awkwardly round the cell while he waited. 'They told the warden there wouldn't be a single guard left alive on D Block if they didn't quit hurting you and allow you back at once,' he admitted.

'And the warden took it seriously?' Tony scoffed. 'Doesn't seem like the kinda guy to be frightened by that kinda crap.'

'It's no bullshit,' Sanchez told him seriously. 'They meant it, and he knew that. He promised you'd be returned as soon as you got outa the hospital.' They gazed at each other in silence for a while before the siren wailed. 'Come on, they're all waiting to talk to you.'

Tony blinked, pulling himself up. _Seems like I survived another nightmare. How many more are still ahead? Everything I touch goes wrong, just like outside…_

His brooding was interrupted by both Perez and Gonzales, who settled on either side of the table, surrounded by members of their gangs. 'You look bad, Almeida!' stated Perez. 'What did the warden want when he took you in for questioning?'

Tony swallowed a piece of potato and shrugged. 'Almeida, I stuck my neck out for you,' Perez chided him mildly. 'What did that bastard want?'

'Oh, he just wandered what we all discussed that dinner,' Tony sighed, unable to feel hungry. Waves of nausea rushed through him, and he handed his plate to Sanchez. 'You can have it.'

The entire table gazed at him in concern. 'You'll get weaker, agent,' Gonzales remarked.

Tony's eyes closed before he could help it, he forced them open again. 'I still feel a bit sick,' he admitted unnecessarily. Slowly he raised his mug of tea, sipping it.

'You shouldn't be here yet,' Fernandez told him. 'Looks more like you should be in the infirmary with a drip.'

'I'm ok,' he replied, wishing he really were.

'You want to mention a few names, Almeida? Tell us who beat you up?' Perez inquired, a dangerous gleam in his eyes.

Tony laid down his mug and shook his head. 'No. There's been way too much killing here already.' They gazed at him disappointed. 'As long as you're safe, leave others alone,' he advised, finishing the last of his tea.

He could tell they were unimpressed with his suggestion, that they would not follow it, but they kept their objections to themselves, noting his poor condition. Someone passed him an untouched mug of tea which he drank gratefully, enjoying the temporary feeling of safety. All too soon the siren wailed and they lined up in their rows, ready for being returned to their cells.

Tony lay back on his bunk, watching Sanchez lay out packs of cards on the table and play solitaire, content to watch. He was too exhausted to attempt conversation, but was grateful to his friend for talking to him, relating all the happenings in the yard without expecting any replies.

'And nothing else happened expect we got four new Arabs, so I guess you'll have a chance to practice your Arabic with someone,' Sanchez concluded his monologue. 'Though they look a little unfriendly.'

Tony rolled onto his side, propping his head on his elbow. 'Do you know their names?' he inquired casually.

Sanchez laughed in delight. 'Well, I got your attention, amigo! I figured if that wouldn't, you'd be heading for the morgue. You probably heard of them, they're in for treason, same as you.'

Tony sat up, frowning exasperated. 'Come on, Sanchez, tell me their names,' he said firmly.

'They weren't mentioned in your letter to your boss,' Sanchez continued, 'but they were returned from somewhere in the Middle East…'

'Sanchez,' Tony snapped, losing patience.

'Al Batal, Daoud, al Hallaj and one more I can't remember' Sanchez told him. 'If you ask me, they're bad.'

'They were with Aziz, they helped blow up that port,' Tony exclaimed, his face turning a shade darker. 'What are they doing here? They should be interrogated about other terrorist activities.'

'Don't ask me,' Sanchez said hurriedly. 'Maybe they don't know anything more…'

Tony scowled in silence, unwilling to believe it. 'I didn't notice them tonight.'

Sanchez shook his head. 'No, amigo, they eat at a separate table right up the front. They eat special food,' he explained, reshuffling his cards. 'Want to play a bit?'

'Just one game,' Tony told him, noticing the look of hope in his face. 'So now we got to cater for them separately?' he said bitterly. 'After they killed over 300 naval personnel. It's not right.'

'I don't know about you, amigo, but have you noticed many fair things happening round here?' Sanchez asked.

Tony shook his head in silence; taking the pack he was handed.

'Amigo, you promised you'd do something for me.' Sanchez began hesitantly.

Tony shifted his gaze upwards without moving his head, waiting for him to continue.

'I got nine more months here, so if you could help me write to my wife…'

Tony grinned and nodded. 'Yeah, I'll do that first thing in the morning. Don't worry, she'll come see you, but then it's up to you.'

He went to bed early, staring in silence at the ceiling above him, sorting through the previous fortnight_. Please let Jack get me a pardon_, he prayed_. I feel so sick, it still hurts to move. I just can't stay here._


	34. Chapter Thirty Four: Narcotics Charge

'I got a visitor?' Sanchez echoed, standing in the center of the cell, eyeing the guard stupefied. 'After 8 years? Who is it?'

The guard's obvious irritation increased. 'How the hell should I know? Now do you wanna see them, or not? Move to the back of your cell.'

Sanchez turned to seek reassurance from Tony as the door slammed behind him. 'Do you think it's her?' he whispered.

Tony nodded encouragingly. 'Sure. She replied to your letter, didn't she? Go on, you'll be ok!' He watched his cellmate led along the catwalk and down the stairs before he picked up his Arabic grammar and began the tenth chapter. Being alone he could focus on the lesson properly without being interrupted constantly by invitations to play cards with his bored friend. _Hopefully it's his wife. It'll be a lot easier for him if she'll take him back._ A few minutes later he rose from the chair, aware he had been wasting time dreaming. _Focus, Almeida! He'll be ok if he remembers everything you told him to say, and he should do, you've practiced it often enough! Now don't waste your time._

The siren's wail echoed through the block, interrupting every inmate. Tony laid his book on the bed, filled his cup with water which he swallowed in a gulp and hurried to his door, joining the silent queue.

It was windy outside. He felt his clothes tugged by the gale as he moved to join Colin, who was forced to cup his hand round his cigarette lighter. 'Damn this wind,' he muttered moodily. 'Can't even light this thing. You want one, Tony?'

He shook his head. 'No, and you shouldn't either. You didn't smoke at CTU.'

Colin laughed harshly. 'I didn't do lots of things at CTU. That's another life. Why bring it up?'

'You're right,' Tony agreed, leaning against the wall. 'I won't again. It's kinda cold, out here.'

Colin nodded. 'Where's Sanchez?'

Tony stared at him in surprise. Colin lived in world of his own, perpetually cursing himself for his theft, paying little attention to anything that transpired. 'His wife came to visit.'

Colin granted, his hand round his cigarette. 'What did you do to those Arabs?' he asked after several minutes had passed. 'They've been watching you.'

Tony waved away the smoke the strong gust blew into his face, attempting not to cough. 'Arabs?' he inquired, casually. So someone else had noticed it too, he wasn't sinking into paranoia.

'Those terrorists. How did you piss them off, you only just got back? Haven't seen you anywhere near them!'

Tony studied him quizzically. Colin had been sent down for accepting bribes, but as far as he knew had never revealed anything classified. He took a deep breath. 'I had a little something to do with them being returned,' he admitted.

Colin tapped ash onto the ground, raising his eyes to look into Tony's. 'Think they know that?'

Tony shrugged. 'Normally I'd say no, that's classified, but they sure act like they know.'

His former colleague nodded. 'Yeah, they do. You knew them from undercover work?'

'No, I kept tabs on them. My intel led to their arrest.'

Colin studied the dusty yard. 'For what it's worth, I can tell you no one would've shown them your notes during interrogation. If they saw your name anywhere on their charge sheet, it could only have been here, on arrival. The C files we bring with us are real detailed.'

'They're also classified,' Tony objected. 'I never got to see mine! Closest I got to it; the warden was examining it on his desk and shut it once I got into his office. You get to see yours?'

'No. But I'll bet all my smokes they saw theirs. After all, Tony, it's a weird coincidence they're housed in the same block you were in, don't you think? I mean, there's three other blocks too. And the warden and block supervisor are hardly among your closest fans!'

Tony rubbed his face, waving away more smoke. 'Those C files are to be locked away in the warden's office. Showing them to anyone would be highly illegal.' He chewed his lip uneasily, aware how little regard anyone around him had for the law.

'If I were you, I'd watch my back,' Colin advised. 'If they are aware of your role in their capture, they'll kill you.'

'Yeah,' he agreed bitterly. 'I'll watch out for them too. So far I've only got the Aryan brothers after me, and all the guards in the entire prison. What's one more group?'

The gale made yard time unpleasant. Tony found himself longing to return to his cell. It seemed hours later when the siren wailed and they were led indoors and locked up. He found Sanchez sitting on the floor, a bemused expression on his face.

'Hey, how did it go?' he inquired, wishing his friend luck.

Sanchez beamed at him. 'She's gonna give me another chance,' he said, grinning at Tony. 'Almeida, I'll never be able to thank you for helping with my letter, telling me what to say…'

Tony shrugged awkwardly. 'You're welcome. Just remember what else I told you, ok?'

'Of course. I got to say four kind things everyday, and if I'm pissed off I got to go for a walk until I'm ok again, and NEVER yell at her – even if she yells at me! I got to help round the house and make her tea in the evenings.'

'Right,' Tony agreed, amused by the recitation_. It works for you, Papa, and I tried real hard too…_

The clang of dozens of footsteps along the catwalk interrupted his thoughts and he tucked Michelle's picture deep into his pocket, turning to face the door as six guards arrived. 'This is a cell search. Almeida and Sanchez, move to the back of the cell and face the wall, with your hands on your heads!'

'What the hell now?' Tony whispered to an equally mystified Sanchez. They stood close together, heads pressed into the cold plaster, fingers interlocked behind them. The guards entered and locked the door, placing them both in cuffs and warning them against the slightest movement. Hearts beating wildly they listened to the search, hearing their mattresses pulled to the ground and stripped, their bedding trampled upon and shaken vigorously, their books knocked to the floor. Each one was lifted by its covers and shaken. Tony grimaced, fighting the urge to turn his head to watch them handling his books. _Just don't shake that Spanish one, or it'll fall apart…Warden Jeffries would sure LOVE the subject matter!_ To his intense relief they gave the written material nothing but a cursory examination, returning the mattresses to the beds and throwing the entire pile of bedding onto the bottom bunk, clearing space for themselves. One opened the toilet and glanced inside, slamming the lid. The two prisoners jumped at the noise, kicking themselves for it. The same guard pulled the lid off the cistern, peering inside.

'What have we here?' he questioned.

Tony turned his head sideways, noticing a wet plastic bag in his hands, before a blow to his shoulders reminded him the question had not been addressed to him. Not yet, anyway.

'Open it,' ordered supervisor Lee, and he heard the rustling of plastic, unwrapped and pulled from a second plastic bag.

'Sir, it looks like cocaine!'

'Bring it here,' ordered Lee, pulling a finger into it. 'It sure does. Alright, turn round slowly, the pair of you. Who does this belong to?'

_Just when things are a little more tolerable something's got to go wrong… It's sure as hell not mine, and I doubt it's his either._ They turned to face the supervisor, gazing in shocked silence at the large bag. _That looks pretty full. How the hell did it get here?_

Supervisor Lee tapped his foot impatiently. 'Wipe those idiotic expressions off your faces right now,' he ordered. 'Quit acting like you never saw it before! Who does this belong to?' Silence greeted his question. Lee's face turned red. 'Almeida?'

'No sir,' Tony replied, looking him in the eye.

Lee looked momentarily disconcerted. 'Sanchez,' he inquired, glancing at the car thief. 'No sir,' he said, shaking his head. 'It's not mine.'

'So it just materialized,' Lee asked, his voice dripping with scorn. 'You spics better agree whose it is this minute.'

'Sir, neither of us ever saw it before,' Tony assured him. 'It sure wasn't here this morning, someone must have planted it while I had yard time and he had a visitor.'

'Really?' inquired Lee. 'And what makes you so certain it wasn't here this morning?'

'He fixed the toilet,' Sanchez muttered, his voice shaking. 'I watched. There was nothing there.'

'You fixed the toilet?' repeated Lee, annoyed. 'What the hell do you mean by that?'

'Sir, it was leaking,' Tony explained. 'The water kept flowing, so I took it apart and repaired it. I assure you there was nothing inside here then.'

'So you kept it somewhere else,' Lee told him, shaking his head.

'Sir, look around,' Tony begged. 'This cell is bare, there IS nowhere else! I can promise you this isn't ours!'

'This isn't the Boy Scouts,' Lee told him, picking up the bag. 'The word of a convicted traitor might not hold much weight.'

'We didn't do it, sir,' Sanchez repeated.

Lee carried the bag closer to them. 'Take a good look at this. How the hell did you think you could conceal it?' He held it out to Sanchez.

'Freeze,' Tony snapped, his order coming as instinctively as it had on patrol. Sanchez paused, frozen in his tracks. 'Don't let him make you touch it, he's after fingerprints!'

Lee returned the bag to the table, eyeing Tony in silent fury. 'Alright, we'll take this to Warden Jeffries. Narcotics come under his jurisdiction. Move it, convicts.'

'Sir, don't do this,' Tony pleaded, aware his efforts were in vain. 'You know us. This is such an obvious set-up…'

'We'll let the warden decide that,' Lee told him. 'Move it. One step out of line, the guards will activate their stun batons.' He gave Tony a rough shove, pushing him ahead of Sanchez. They were hurried out of the cell, the guards falling into step beside them.

'Sir,' Colin called, face pressed against his bars. 'I doubt the drugs belong to them. I would've noticed if they had anything like that.'

'Really?' Lee inquired. 'Just how much time do you devote to watching Convict Almeida? A great deal, I assume, but let me assure you these things can be concealed within seconds. Let's go.'

'Sir, I am, at least I was - a federal agent,' Colin continued. 'I would've noticed something like that.'

'I dare say you would,' Lee answered, another smirk on his face. 'You would've been certain to get your cut! I don't want to hear another word.' He set off along the corridor, followed by the guards. Tony turned his head back, meeting Colin's eyes. The man's face was red with shame, and he shook his head slightly.

_Thanks for trying to help us._ Tony hoped he would be able to read the message his face conveyed, before he turned to stumble down the stairs. _Why the hell do they keep bringing his crime up, he's regretted it a thousand times already_. He was given no further time to dwell on the supervisor's lack of tact, before they reached the yard. The guards picked up their speed and they were forced to walk as fast as they could to keep up, aware of the prohibition against running, and having seen the fate that awaited prisoners unable to match the pace.

_You're in real trouble again, Almeida! You're gonna go down for this, and so will Sanchez, coz it'll be impossible proving you didn't place that bag there. They don't even need to prove it was yours, they got the evidence._ His brain struggled to find a way out of their predicament, but he came up blank.

Warden Jeffries was disinclined to listen to reason or to be swayed by their protestations of innocence. He pointed to the bag before him on his desk, eyes hard. 'That's quite enough! We've wasted ten minutes listening to your lies. I haven't got all afternoon! You're obviously collecting a little cash for your release, Sanchez, especially as it appears you'll have a wife and child to support. I know you haven't got anything outside. Admit this was yours and I'll be lenient.'

'What the hell is that supposed to mean,' Tony inquired, concerned for his cellmate, who appeared to be shaking. 'Why should he admit anything?'

'It'll go better with you if you do,' the warden informed them. 'Two years for trafficking inside if you plead guilty and reveal your sources. Double that if you don't. And a very long spell in the SHU. Sanchez?'

'No sir, it wasn't me,' Sanchez moaned, tears filling his eyes. 'I can't tell you what I don't know. It's not mine, I'm going home soon.'

'I can't tell you who the supplier is, as he didn't inform us of the deal, but I'll tell you who delivered it,' Tony said, his voice hard. It was plain they were to be charged, and he was determined to save his cellmate. 'One of your guards brought it this morning. Just check your surveillance tapes and you'll find him. We don't know anything about this.'

The warden rose, glaring at him. 'Are you implying one of my employees planted a bag of narcotics to frame you? That's outrageous! You're delusional; you'll need to see a shrink! And that's not gonna help you! You WILL be charged with trafficking. Now as neither of you are prepared to plead guilty I'll be forced to present this matter to the court next week. You may call your lawyers to represent you if you wish. It will make little difference.'

Tony longed to rub his face, struggling with his rage. 'I'm perfectly sane, Warden Jeffries. Refusal to view the security footage would say something about your mental state – it would reflect badly on you. Examine it now and save yourself the trouble of charging us.'

'You're overly confident, Almeida,' the warden told him, in disgust. 'Ok, have it your way, we'll view the footage. Let me warn you it will go badly with you if I don't find anything.' He got up, turning to the guards. 'Take them to interrogation room 1.'

The door's bang indicated finality as they faced each other across the table, shackled to the chairs. Tony's eyes searched the walls, spotting a camera focused directly on the table. 'There's a camera,' he warned his cellmate. 'There'll be a few microphones too.'

Sanchez nodded vaguely, his distress palpable. 'I'm not gonna get to go home, am I?' he asked, lowering his face. 'I had nine months left, I done 8 years. My groups all gonna go, and I'll still be here, all alone. My wife won't wait. It's all over, before it could even begin. She was gonna bring Ella next time, that's our daughter,' he ended, his voice shaking. 'She was just a baby…I was gonna really meet her…'

'Stop,' Tony begged. 'Sanchez, we were set up, they're gonna see someone bring that stuff. No one's gonna charge you with anything, trust me. It's not as bad as you think, we know for sure that bag was delivered this morning while we were out, that gives a two hour time frame, it's possible to search through the security tapes. You'll see your daughter.'

The door opened before he could finish reassuring his friend. 'Get up, you spics,' snapped the warden. 'I've checked the entire two hours you were gone, and the tape is fine. NO ONE at all entered your cell. Now I'm confining the pair of you to the SHU to await your trial.'

Sanchez shook harder, his breathing labored. 'Sir, the tape must have been tampered with,' Tony argued. 'Someone MUST have entered the cell this morning. I promise you we're not responsible for trafficking.'

The warden ignored him, motioning the guards to unshackle their legs. 'Save it for the judge, Almeida. He's heard this kinda crap before. Now move it.'

'No, wait,' Tony said, his eyes lowered. 'I had my eye on Sanchez the entire time, he brought nothing into the cell, I would've found it if he had. I was the one who was pulled out and returned a coupla times in the past few weeks, not him. Charge me.'

The warden regarded him with a smile. 'You're pleading guilty?'

'No sir,' Tony retorted. 'But like I said, I would've noticed if he tried anything like this. I'm trained to do so. Look,' he said, leaning against the chair, 'I'm not exactly strengthening my defense, assuring you of his innocence. You'll fail to get him convicted, and you know it, you'll just end up looking incompetent. Let him go.'

'Incompetent?' echoed the warden. 'Now that wouldn't look good on my record, would it? You're right, Sanchez was incapable, but you had plenty of opportunity to do a little smuggling. After all, you're a lifer, you got little to lose, and a lot to gain, and you're real close to those Mexicans. Government confiscated your property; you've got to be bitter.' He turned to the guards. 'Return Convict Sanchez to his cell, and escort Convict Almeida to the SHU.'

The door opened and a shaking Sanchez was pushed through, turning to regard Tony in dismay. 'I'll be fine,' Tony assured him as he was hauled away.

'Really? I'm not sure I share your confidence,' the warden remarked. 'Don't imagine you'll get away with this. There's plenty of punishments we can hand out to those serving life sentences, you can be sure about that.'

'I don't doubt it,' Tony muttered audibly as he was marched from the room.


	35. Chapter Thirty Five: Prison Justice

'I don't know what you imagine I can do for you, Tony?' his lawyer sighed, the sound echoing through the drab interrogation room. 'They found a kilo of cocaine in your cell.'

Tony nodded. 'I just told you, Paul, I didn't put it there. Someone planted it to frame me. You're a lawyer, aren't you? Check the fingerprints on the bag, on the cell, question the guards, please. I didn't do this.'

His lawyer looked awkward. 'You're asking me to conduct an investigation within a federal penitentiary. First off, I'm not a private detective, and second, it's entirely up to the warden to grant such a request. Speaking to him earlier, I'm not certain you're among his favorite inmates!'

Tony remained in his chair, aware he was shackled to it and no longer tempted to pace. 'That's immaterial. You're a top lawyer; you'll have to convince him. Dammit Paul, I'll tell you what to collect, I just need you to do it, as I'm kinda restricted! Oh, and I'll need you to take the security footage and view it all, and if you find nothing, send it to Michelle. Someone tampered with it.' He fell silent, wishing he could take charge of his defense.

'I'll see what I can do,' his lawyer told him. 'Just don't expect too much. Right now it's not looking too good. You realize what you're facing if we fail to find anything and it goes to trial?'

Tony shook his head. 'There's no way they could convict me, the evidence is all circumstantial!'

'Is it? Well I got news for you. This is a simple narcotics case, and people have been convicted with far less evidence.'

Tony chewed his lip, pondering the situation. 'Ok, go ahead. What more can they do to me? I got something left they overlooked, that they're gonna take?'

His lawyer frowned. 'Tony, I'm being serious here. You'll get a year in the SHU, they'll then transfer you again, and there are a few worse places out there. They'll make sure you never get another visitor again, and they'll lock you up with all kinds of people and, well, I don't need to spell it out for you!'

Tony exhaled sharply. 'Paul, I didn't do this. You've got to clear me.'

'I'll try. Don't attract any further attention to yourself in the meantime.'

'I won't,' he promised, watching the lawyer pack his files into his briefcase. _You used to have one very similar to this, Almeida_. He swallowed as the door closed and he remained alone in the room, grateful for a few extra moments away from his uncomfortable cell. If only he would be given permission to collect samples and examine them he was certain he would not only clear his name but also catch the culprit. _Focus, Almeida. Someone set you up, but who? _He cast about for names, giving up in despair. Colin was right, he had too many enemies. Anyone could have bribed a guard into planting the cocaine, or the guards themselves might have wanted to see him further humbled. The warden and block supervisor hated him. Tony kicked himself mentally. Those officials certainly hated him, but he doubted whether they would risk their careers to get a little revenge. It was more likely to be an inmate, which didn't provide many more clues as the group of Aryan brothers in the block were out to get him, as well as Summers and the Arabs. He got up, held forcibly in place by his shackles. _You never expected anything like this, Almeida! Sanchez is right, you spend too much time living in the past. Forget all that, its over! Only this is real, this prison, where you've got to be 100 percent alert all the time. You better pull yourself together quick if you hope to survive._

Deep in thought, he was pulled back to the present by the door's opening. Two guards entered, unshackled his leg and placed the baton to his neck. Tony followed them meekly down the corridor and out of the administration block, across the courtyards and into the SHU. He was returned to his ground floor cell where he had spent the previous afternoon. Once his wrists were freed he sank onto the bed, rubbing his forehead, attempting to soothe a raging headache. He desperately hoped his lawyer would find the erased footage on the security tape without the need to bother Michelle, who was obviously up to her neck in work. The last thing he wanted was to be a distraction to her. If he was honest, he would prefer her to remain ignorant of the latest problems facing him. The charges were baseless, ridiculous even.

The day dragged by and what seemed hours later he ate his dinner on the floor, his tray propped on his knees, unenlightened as to his defense's progress. All he knew for certain was that he would be released the moment his lawyer succeeded in refuting his charges, and if that failed to eventuate, he would be taken before the court that sat once a month within the prison to be formally charged and almost certainly convicted. Few brought before the court ever escaped conviction, especially as their lawyers' were effectively prohibited from investigating the alleged crimes. He chewed his food slowly without tasting any of it, remembering the previous two occasions he had been up before a court. The first was of course his treason trial, where he had been sentenced to life behind bars, and the second was in prison after his failed escape, a trial at which he had only been permitted to enter once the verdict was handed out.

He could sense the following few days would be long, filled with dread. Tony longed for news but doubted he would receive any. Once his plate was empty he returned his tray to the slot and paced his cell, two and half steps from the door to the wall and back again, his hands clasped behind his back _The president's hardly gonna view Jack's request for your pardon favorably should you get charged with dealing! He'd certainly refuse, even if he had any intention of releasing you. You CANNOT allow this conviction to stick, Almeida, you really cannot._ He bowed his head, watching his feet in his ill fitting shoes that flapped more than usual without laces_. It's real stupid, removing the laces! As though anyone would hang themselves with it! All it does is inconvenience the prisoner, especially during exercise period. Damn shoes keep falling off your feet, and they'll be certain to give you blisters. Almost worth leaving them in the cell and sneaking out barefoot! Interesting to see how far you'd get…_ Not that he would try such a thing. The guards in the SHU were constantly on the alert for any hint of disobedience and would interpret such an action as a flagrant violation of prison discipline.

Tony kicked his shoes off, watching them fly through the air and bump into the wall, landing in the middle of his tiny space. Slowly he bent and placed them behind his bed, resuming his pacing in his socks. _Why did this have to happen now? Things were just beginning to settle._ He rubbed his face, hanging his head. _That's not entirely true, Almeida! Those Arabs just arrived, and it appears they're out to get you._

Five days later he received the familiar order to stick his wrists through the slot. Tony rose from the floor where he had completed his 300th push-up and pulled on his shoes, forcing his arms up behind him. Once they were cuffed he moved to the back of his cell and faced the wall, heart beating wildly. They had come to escort him somewhere, that had to mean his lawyer had been successful!

To his surprise he found the man waiting for him in the interrogation room he was led into, a grave expression on his face. 'Good afternoon, Tony,' he began. 'Sit down.'

Tony snorted, feeling a hand on his shoulder pushing him into a chair. 'Ok, I will! Hi Paul.' He waited until the guards left, slamming the door behind them. 'Did you get anything?' he asked eagerly. His lawyer remained silent, the frown on his face deepening. 'Tell me you got something, Paul,' Tony begged, aware his request was illogical. His expression indicated his obvious failure; he just refused to accept it. 'Paul, how come they let you speak to me? It's against their protocol.'

The lawyer settled opposite him. 'I spoke to Michelle,' he began. Tony's heart skipped a beat.

'How is she?' he interrupted, ignoring the need to focus on his charges during the lawyer's limited visit.

Paul Sikorski shook his head. 'She sounded fine, obviously concerned about you. I explained what happened, and she insists you're innocent. She was going to fly down and attend your trial, and had a hard time comprehending that it's strictly an internal matter. Tony, she called the warden and arranged for me to have a free hand conducting this investigation. First thing I did, I searched your cell. I questioned your cellmate.'

Tony folded his arms. 'Sanchez had no hand in this either,' he assured his lawyer.

'I concur, though it was highly inadvisable for you to take the charges alone. We could have pleaded he had a hand in it and you were unaware of his dealing, it would've raised doubt in the mind of the judge and I might have managed to get you off.'

'You would've pinned it on Sanchez!' Tony said, shaking his head. 'No, Paul, that would be wrong.'

His lawyer shrugged. 'Well, thanks to you it's irrelevant now. Your neighbor spoke to me, a certain ex-federal agent Haughton. He offered to help in the investigation. He's been invaluable. So far he advised me where to check for fingerprints, and gave me a long list of those convicts who bear you're a grudge, so I can compare them.'

'Did you get anything?' Tony inquired eagerly.

'Not yet. None of the prints in your cell match anyone on the list, so the only thing we've got to work on is the bag itself. That's problematic; we've had to send it away for analysis. However, there's one piece of good news you'd like to hear.'

Tony folded his arms. 'I could sure use some right now, Paul.' His heart leapt again at the mention of "good news."

'Michelle analyzed the security footage. There was indeed evidence of tampering. They managed to discover the exact spot the tape went into a loop, that's the good news. I'll bring it up as evidence to back you. Unfortunately, however,' he continued, holding up a hand to keep Tony silent another moment, 'we were unable to find the real footage. It was destroyed. You understand, Tony, that this missing footage won't amount to much.'

Tony nodded. 'Yeah. But it's something, right?'

His lawyer nodded. 'Now we're just waiting for the lab to return the bag. Are they treating you well, Tony?'

Tony nodded. 'Well enough, under the circumstances. There's no way I could take a year of it, though.' He lowered his eyes, longing to hear a reassuring comment.

'This case is going to be heard on the 23rd. Even with the prints identifying someone, it'll be hard to prove they were not collaborating with you. I'm just preparing you,' he added kindly.

'Preparing me?' Tony echoed, raising his eyes. 'You're telling me I got no chance?'

His lawyer rose. 'I'm doing my utmost, but you sure don't make my job easy. You'll be required to plead not guilty. I'll see you there.'

Tony nodded, so deep in thought he barely remembered to thank his lawyer. The return trip to the SHU passed in a blur as his mind raged against the situation. It was wrong, he had been framed and he was almost certainly going to be handed a severe punishment.

It seemed quieter than usual in his tiny cell once the echo of the door's slamming behind him died away. Tony stood in the middle of the room, unable to pick a spot to sit down. He ran his eyes over the walls, shaking his head in disbelief. _Someone must have cursed you, Almeida! It sure seems as though this will be your new home for a year._

They came for him two days later, leading him into a tiny courtroom fully restrained. Tony noticed his lawyer, a panel of people he had never seen before and the warden together with a prison official who was obviously present as a prosecutor. He was seated beside his lawyer who gave him an encouraging nod. Almost before he could settle the door opened again and the judge entered. Tony's heart sank as he rose, recognizing the man as the same one who had dealt with his escape. _He's not gonna cut you any slack, Almeida, he'll throw the book at you this time!_

His fears proved well founded. Tony was ordered into the witness stand and he pleaded his innocence, insisting he had no knowledge of any narcotics. The judge actually scoffed at his words. To his dismay he was removed from the courtroom once his plea was finished, not being permitted to remain and hear the rest of the trial. 'I want a summary of Convict Almeida's behavior whilst inside the penitentiary,' the judge demanded just before he reached the double doors. The final thing he heard was his lawyer objecting, arguing that this case was a separate issue and should be dealt with as such. He was over ruled as the door was shut behind him and two guards returned him to the SHU. Tony sank onto his bed, praying for divine intervention, aware he would receive no mercy from the court. Long hours passed without news, while he alternately paced his cell or leaned against the wall in the back corner, attempting to picture the trial.

Just before lights out his slot opened and the warden peered inside. 'Get up, Almeida!' Tony rose, filled with apprehension. Whatever he had to say was bound to be bad news as far as he was concerned, the failure of his lawyer to return signaling his complete defeat. 'You've been found guilty as charged! Your lawyer has some insane hope of clearing you once the fingerprints on the bag return, but it won't succeed. Those prints are only partial, insufficient to do anything to help you. You've been sentenced to a year in the SHU, and after that you'll be transferred.'

Tony remained silent, his face impassive.

'Aren't you the least bit curious where they'll send you?' The warden appeared keen he should inquire about the location.

'Yes sir,' Tony replied in monosyllables.

'Well, I can't tell you!' Warden Jeffries appeared to derive great satisfaction from his final sentence. 'It's classified. But I can tell you one thing, you won't be receiving terribly many visitors!'

Tony's heart sank, his worst fears confirmed. 'Why are you doing this, sir?' he inquired softly. 'You know I had nothing to do with this.' A picture of his parents entered his mind unbidden and he drew a deep breath, numbing his heart.

'Oh, a year here would be just the thing to settle you down, convict,' replied the warden, satisfaction in his voice. 'It's amazing what a year of solitary does to the most obstinate troublemakers. You had it coming!' The bar over the slot was lowered, leaving Tony alone in his cell.

A terrible night passed, Tony sitting on his bed, not daring to rebel openly by pacing, but totally unable to lie still. _Why the hell did you even try to behave, Almeida? Did it help you, accepting all those insults? Look where they locked you up now! You really didn't deserve this!_ His heart burned in indignation, refusing to accept the injustice. _One whole year locked away from the world. How are you supposed to live, without knowing they're all okay, mom and Papa, Michelle and the rest of them? How can you not have a clue? _Nobody disturbed him as the hours dragged by.

Exhaustion took its toll shortly after breakfast and he fell asleep on top of the bed, dreaming of judges standing in a row, all waiting to convict him of something, while he howled his innocence. His lunch tray banged in the slot woke him and he ate automatically, returning to his corner once it was removed. Head on his knees, he imagined his parents before him. 'I didn't do it, I swear,' he whispered, sure they would believe him. He was never less than completely honest with them, as they were with him.

His slot was opened the next morning and a guard yelled at him to wake him from an exhausted sleep after a second night of self recrimination. 'Get up at once, convict. You'll regret it if I have to come in!'

Tony rubbed his eyes and stumbled over to the slot, pushing his hands out, struggling to collect his thoughts. What could they want him for at this hour? Totally numb, he followed the guards out of the SHU and over to the administration block. _Must be my lawyer, bringing me a copy of my new sentence._ His heart skipped a beat once they passed the corridor where interrogations were held and continued to the warden's office. _Oh God, what now? Have they managed to pin something else on me?_

The guard knocked on the door and he was told to enter. Tony was given a push that propelled him over the threshold as his body refused to obey his instructions to move. Warden Jeffries sat at his desk writing, a scowl on his face. They were kept waiting five minutes before he turned his attention to the group. 'Almeida, you've got more lives than a cat,' he remarked, his disgust evident.

Tony studied him with a faint glimmer of hope. The man was clearly irritated about something to do with him. He had been so in favor of the harsh punishment meted out to him just two days before, could that possibly have been revoked? _Please God, let those charges be dropped._

'We matched the finger prints to an inmate inside this penitentiary,' he began in his nasally voice. 'That person confessed to bribing an officer to plant some incriminating evidence on you.'

He nodded, studying the wall just past the warden's head. 'May I ask who it was, sir?'

The warden glared at him. 'You may not! This incident is being dealt with BY ME!'

Tony listened silently, thanking God. 'Am I free to return to my cell?' he asked, looking the warden in the eye.

He nodded reluctantly. 'Yes you are, this time. Let this serve as a lesson to you. Don't seek trouble in the future. If you continue to do so, I'll have you back in the SHU within the month! I will no longer tolerate any infractions, Almeida.' He gave Tony a hard look before ordering the guards to return him to D Block.


	36. Chapter Thirty Six: Parole Board

'Hey Colin,' Tony said as he joined his colleague in the yard. 'How's it going?'

Colin regarded him with dull eyes. 'Same as usual, Tony. Did you think I found a hobby?'

Tony leaned against the wall, concerned. Colin appeared even less interested in his surroundings than a week ago. 'I came to say thanks, for your support. I'd never have cleared my name alone.'

The disgraced agent puffed on his cigarette, blue smoke billowing across the yard, fortunately in the opposite direction. 'We're supposed to back each up, right? Work as a team, etc. I'm not dead yet, Tony.'

The emphasis on the word "yet" disturbed Tony. 'Colin, you're fine,' he found himself saying, determined to cheer him up. 'How much longer are you stuck here?'

'Four months,' Colin muttered, disinterestedly.

'Hey, that's great, I'd sure swap places,' Tony sighed enviously. 'I could manage four months.'

Colin laughed mirthlessly. 'I'm not that sure. You haven't learned to bend with the breeze, you talk too much, you try to fix problems that are none of your concern, and you'd rather see yourself condemned than another. I'd estimate your life expectancy in prison at two months, possibly three.'

Tony rubbed his neck. 'Yeah, you're probably right. Sanchez keeps telling me I got a lot to learn.'

'He's wrong. You're aware of what's going on, your problem is you're too honest. You never lost a guy in combat, I remember that.'

Tony raised his head, moving his eyes from the concrete under him to his colleague's face. 'You remember that? It was a while ago.'

'I got nothing better to do except remember,' Colin admitted. 'You remember it too.'

Tony nodded. He had been new at CTU, struggling to cope with three separate tasks handed to him within half an hour by Jack, Nina and Colin. Someone had blocked off both entrances to a tunnel, threatening to blow the thing sky high, Jack had gone in with a SWAT team and managed to find an emergency entry inside and needed coordination, Nina insisted he track the terrorists' movements outside and he had been working on a list of their identities.

'Tony, where the hell's the background list?' Colin snapped, tapping his keyboard. 'I need to know who these guys are.'

'I transferred it to you a coupla minutes ago,' he replied, studying the infrared screen. 'Jack, there's a hostile at your five o'clock, concealed behind the blue sedan.'

'It's not here, Tony,' Colin told him. 'It's imperative Division gets this asap.'

Tony pulled a box open, nodding his head. 'Right there, Colin. Now let me…'

'Tony, that's the weekly report file. You were supposed to transfer this to my in-box.' Colin glared at him, copying the files and hurrying over to his workstation. Tony rubbed his face, ashamed. How in the world could he have forgotten that urgent protocols required intel transferred to a separate location? He had been told twice by Jack the previous day, and he had still failed.

'Tony, talk to me! How many more hostiles do you count? Where are you?'

'Right here, Jack,' he said, focusing on the situation. 'You got another three guys directly before you, with a hostage.'

Jack came over to his desk later that afternoon. 'You did good, Tony.'

Tony chewed his lip, swallowed and opened his mouth. 'Yeah, he's fine. Not bad at all for his first assignment.' Colin laid a hand on his shoulder.

'Thanks Colin, I owe you one,' Tony told him gratefully, pulling on his jacket.

'You owe me a dozen,' Colin joked, grinning at him. 'You can buy me a beer right now.' They sat together in the nearest bar, Tony's eyes on the table. 'Tony, I wasn't lying. You done an incredible job today. Hell, you never done this before. You worked your own station and Mark's.'

'I screwed up,' Tony muttered, his beer glass clutched in his hand.

'Only by sending the list to the wrong box. Come on, you collected all that data, Division was impressed. You think you're the only one who ever made the slightest mistake? Get real! Remember it and avoid it next time and get on with it! If you need a hand, Tony, just ask.'

It had been a difficult day when he had arrived at work and noticed his colleagues huddled in corners, discussing the names of three agents who had been exposed for accepting bribes. He had hated Jack for that, working on all routine cases as slowly as possible, giving lip whenever he was handed a new task. Jack was his friend now, but he wasn't duty bound to accept all his actions, and he still disagreed with the way the agents had been handled. He supposed it was the difference between them, he was always more lenient, willing to overlook, attempting to understand the circumstances that led to failure, reluctant to condemn.

'Tony, changed your mind about a smoke?' Colin inquired, regarding him with his inscrutable eyes. 'You had a real shit week.'

He shook his head. 'No thanks.' A guard approached them and he fell silent, aware they needed no reason to pull him up.

'Convict Houghton! You're real lucky Mr. Lee sent me to get you. What the hell do you think you're doing, out here? Move it.'

Colin handed his packet of cigarettes to Tony. 'Watch it for me, would ya?' He passed his lighter across and followed the guard along the wall and over to the gate, which was opened for them.

Tony frowned puzzled and wandered over to Perez. 'What's that about?'

'He's got another parole hearing,' Perez informed him. 'Didn't he tell you?'

Tony shook his head. 'No. What do you mean, another? How many has he had?'

Perez shrugged. 'I don't remember. Four at least. He always gets rejected, they say you're not sufficiently rehabilitated to be allowed out at present and they stamp "rejected" on your appeal.'

Tony's fists clenched . 'Why the hell would anyone reject his application? He was never a menace to society, he just slipped up once.'

'The good people on the parole board think differently. Now then, Tony, you look like shit. Would you like a little coffee?'

Tony's mouth fell open, all thought of parole boards forgotten. 'What?' he choked.

The Mexicans laughed aloud. 'You got him there, Señor. Looks like he does.'

'You guys don't have coffee,' he said, regretfully. His mouth watered and he swallowed, tasting coffee, smelling it, hearing it bubble in the coffee maker.

'Let's give you some,' Perez said, grinning. To Tony's astonishment he produced a flask, removed the cup from the top and handed it to him. 'Hold that.' Tony held it steady, his nostrils filled with the aroma of rich coffee. The moment his cup was full he raised it and sipped the scalding liquid, running a small amount over his tongue.

'Gracias, that was worth all the hassle I went through last week,' he told them truthfully. They laughed aloud, asking how many cups he had drunk daily. 'Around eight,' he admitted, longing to lick the remaining drops from the cup. 'My wife gave me a limit of two, I used to sneak around behind her back and get the rest. It was kinda funny.'

'So have another cup,' Perez told him, noticing the pain that filled his eyes whenever he mentioned Michelle. Tony had a second cup, feeling a little optimism return. He had after all managed to clear himself of narcotics charges, and Jack's words lingered in his brain. _He might even get me out of here. And if he can't, well, you have after all already escaped custody once before._ He remained with Perez, listening to his warning about the need to stay vigilant.

'Almeida, your colleague's back,' Lopez told him. 'He doesn't look good.'

Tony turned, watching Colin lean against the wall and shut his eyes. 'I'll go talk to him,' he said, and they nodded. The man's posture indicated defeat and Tony hurried across the yard, searching his brain for calming advice. 'Here, have a smoke,' he began, handing over the pack and the lighter, determined to dispel his dark mood. 'I take it things went bad. You weren't in there long.'

'I was first,' Colin muttered, his tone dull. 'Thank God you'll get spared this charade, Tony. It's totally pointless, just work for beaucrats, that's all, and you already know that, but you can't help hoping.'

'They're bastards,' Tony told him, rubbing his neck. 'It hardly matters though, Colin, you're out in four months anyway. I can use your company until then. Once you're out, I got no one to speak to, not really.'

'So you're in luck,' Colin muttered, emotionless. Tony frowned, knowing he had failed to cheer him up. He spent the remainder of yard time with him, discussing their military careers, forcing Colin to repeat his greatest successes.

'Almeida, keep an eye on him,' Perez warned him as they returned to the queue to head indoors. 'He's gonna end it all soon.'

'No he won't,' Tony argued. 'He's been trained to accept defeat. He's a Marine, he fought in the Gulf War, he won medals for courage, you don't know him.' He glared at the Mexican, terrified he was correct.

'I don't know that gringo, but I've seen thousands of men in prison, and he won't last the week,' Perez repeated.

'I'm getting real sick of hearing that word,' Tony snapped. 'He's name's Colin Haughton, ok?'

A guard interrupted their amateur psychology, yelling at them to move with the rest of the queue. Tony returned to his cell, his worry plain to read, stepping carefully over the untidy piles of cards Sanchez had laid out around the door. 'You really got to play right there?' he demanded, removing his shoes and climbing into his bunk. He gazed moodily at Michelle's picture, before he returned it under the sheets and withdrew her latest letter. It had arrived the day before and he had been thrilled, knowing she was coming to visit him that week. A visit and a letter, he was indeed lucky.

The letter unfortunately had been brief, explaining that her workload was so heavy that she was unable to take a couple of days off to make the trip to Nevada. She would have to miss her visit that month but she would certainly be there in four weeks. He should take care of himself and suppress any wise comments he undoubtedly had, and she loved him.

Tony rubbed his eyes, having memorized the letter the day he received it. _So you can't make it, Michelle! You're real busy this month, well, what makes you so sure you'll have more time next month? You might be even busier. I was gonna thank you for arranging my lawyer's permission to conduct his investigation, and especially to thank you for finding the security tape tampering. Without you I'd be facing a year of solitary. Thanks sweetheart._ He returned the letter to his pile and lay back, tracing the pattern of the cracks above him.

'Amigo,' Sanchez questioned, sensing his dark mood. 'What's wrong? Did you get burnt up outside?'

Tony shook his head. 'No. I'm a little worried about Colin,' he said softly, sitting up and hanging his legs over the edge. 'He got refused parole again and he's taking it bad. He's only got another four months left, I can't understand why he looks like he's got a death sentence.'

'Not because of those four months,' Sanchez answered, collecting his cards. 'I guess they said some pretty harsh things to him down there. Parole board always acts so self-righteous, they make you feel shit.'

Tony jumped the remaining two feet to the ground and picked up a few cards. 'They insult you?' he questioned.

'Not exactly. They just look you in the eye and explain that you're unfit to be returned amoung decent human beings. It's like a kick in the guts.'

_Colin sure doesn't need that at the moment._ _He's real low on confidence right now without being pushed further._ 'I wish I knew what to say to him,' he sighed. 'He's a good guy really.'

'And here's another "good guy"' Sanchez told him sarcastically. 'Watch it, Almeida, Lee's coming.'

Tony tossed his head, irritated. 'What's he doing here now? Another shakedown? Did he plant anything else on us?' he wandered aloud.

Supervisor Lee paused outside the neighboring cell, without sparing them a glance. Tony breathed a sigh of relief, replaced a moment later by a frown.'Convict Houghton, stand your gate! How dare you ignore me when I bring you something? You've just earned yourself a D-report. Now you left without signing this application. Do so and I'll add it to your C file.'

From the frown he read on Lee's face, Tony could see his colleague had failed to comply. 'Convict Houghton, I'm sure as hell not gonna repeat my instructions. You've got a week in A-Seg. This document requires your signature. It's hardly my fault the parole board agreed with my assessment of your character. We're not convinced you fully appreciate the gravity of your crimes. Accepting bribes from criminals and turning up to work at organizations such as CTU are incompatible.'

_Oh shit, they're sending him to the strip cell. How am I supposed to keep an eye on him? Perez could be right, he's reached the limit of his endurance right now. He might just attempt suicide, and he'll manage it without any problem. He's been trained just as I was_. Tony shook Sanchez's hand off his mouth irritated. 'Lemme go,' he hissed, leaning against his door. 'You're right, sir! It's an occupation best reserved for corrections officers.'

Supervisor Lee turned to regard him in astonishment. 'I'm writing you up for attitude, Convict Almeida,' he snapped, pulling out his notebook.

Tony nodded. 'Yeah. It's better than being charged with dealing, right?'

'I won't tolerate your giving lip,' Lee told him, outraged. 'Just what are you implying?'

Tony shrugged. 'I was always taught that the person without sins should cast the first stone. You real sure you're that guy, sir? You never took a bribe as you wandered through the block?'

'That's it!' Lee exclaimed, pulling out his handcuffs. He beckoned to the guards who patrolled the lower floor. 'Stick your hands through the slot,' he ordered, glaring at Tony. 'You've just earned yourself a week in A-Seg. You're a fool, Almeida, keep giving me lip and I'll keep sending you down as many times as it takes!'

Tony scowled and put his arms behind him, forcing them up through the slot. Cold steel circled his wrists and he remained immobile, waiting for the guards. Sanchez shook his head at him.

'Lugged again,' he sighed, watching Lee move to meet the four guards he had summoned. 'Don't look at me like that, Sanchez, I'm not crazy. I just wanna keep an eye on Colin, he's taking this real bad. I'm not gonna let him kill himself so close to his release.'

They were led along the floor in full view of all the cells, Tony behind Colin. Perez met his eyes as they were led past and he gave Tony a slight nod of understanding. The door banged behind them and they crossed a wind swept yard, unable to pull their arms round themselves for warmth. The block they approached threw a dark shadow across the yard. Tony failed to stop a cold shiver down his spine as a guard unlocked the gate and they were pushed inside a narrow courtyard, and halted before the inevitable steel door.

'I brought you two federal agents,' Supervisor Lee told his counterpart at administrative segregation.

The man laughed aloud, shaking his head. 'Come on Lee, quit fooling. How long am I to have the pleasure?'

'A week each. This one's Haughton, he likes to ignore orders and pretend to have a hearing impediment, whilst his colleague Almeida's got the opposite problem, won't keep his mouth shut! Almeida's to be placed on reduced rations.'

Tony had listened in mild amusement to the two guards' comments until that point. 'Why?' he demanded. 'You gotta have a reason for that!'

'I do,' Lee told him. I'm real SICK of you. I want you to keep an eye on the pair of them, Morris.'

His colleague nodded. 'You can count on it. They'll jump when you so much as look at them after this. Remove your clothes,' he snapped at them as they stood in the center of the room. 'You already know the drill perfectly well, Almeida!'

Lee straightened, paying close attention to the guards who examined them, disappointed to find nothing on either prisoner beyond Colin's cigarettes and lighter. 'I'm off.' His colleague followed him to the door and they spoke at length in the corridor while Tony and Colin were permitted to put on their underwear. They stood in silence, cuffs returned to their hands as they waited for the suprervisor to return. Tony glanced at Colin a few times, alarmed to notice his colleague no longer appeared aware of his surroundings.

Presently Supervisor Morris returned and glanced through his files, assigning them two cages. Tony watched their clothes carried over to the other side of the reception area to a large steel cabinet with numbers on the front resembling a locker at a swimming pool and bundled inside. He wandered why they remained in the room, remembering he had never been left inside long enough to watch his clothes put away. A horrible thought came to him which he pushed away firmly. _There's no nightsticks in this prison, you haven't seen one here!_ He glanced at Colin who remained focused on the door, his eyes those of a condemned man who had made peace with his sentence.

Supervisor Morris cleared his throat. 'Alright, you two federal agents,' he began, 'listen real well. Once upon a time the pair of you took orders from your superiors and done a little work! Now I'm a firm believer in rehabilitation, salvaging whatever speck of decency remains inside you cons and working on that It's obvious you're unfit to hold any kind of position, but whilst you're here you WILL take orders! Think of me as your boss. I will not tolerate the slightest hint of rebellion! Is that absolutely clear?'

'Yes sir,' Tony replied, unwilling to annoy the man, despite his being, in his opinion, a complete jerk.

The supervisor gave him a hard look and turned to Colin. 'IS THAT CLEAR?' To Tony's dismay his colleague remained silent, eyes glazed over. Morris gave a snort and moved behind the counter, emerging with a nightstick.

'Don't do it sir, he's sick,' Tony exclaimed. 'Just give him a day, he'll be fine by tomorrow.'

The supervior turned to regard him with ice cold eyes. 'You got a medical degree, convict?'

Tony chewed his lip, his eyes on the nightstick in the guard's hands, noting how he tapped his palm with it. _Bastard won't replace this without using it._ He raised his eyes, reading only cruelty from the man.

'I asked you something, convict. I expect an answer!'

'Sir, I've done an intensive first aid course and used it to treat men injured during combat.'He hoped Morris would leave things and summon some guards to lock them up, but the man clearly felt the need to vaunt his authority and refused to consider his words.

'First aid! And what, in your expert opinion is the matter with that convict beyond plain obstinacy?'

_You're a real bastard, you're not gonna back down, are you?_ 'He's shell shocked, sir.'

Morris's mouth twisted in scorn. 'Shell shocked!' he repeated. 'That's real good, Almeida! I mean, the war's not that far, is it, just round the other side of the globe? I suggest you quit diagnosing patients.' He raised the stick, the swish plainly audible as he brought it down on Colin's shoulders.

Tony noticed him jump, a wild look in his eyes.

'Ok, that's a lot better. Now Almeida, you can explain what I just told you to your colleague. I don't repeat myself!'

Tony drew a deep breath, struggling to contain his rage. 'I'll give you a brief summary! He says he's in charge here, like a boss,' he muttered. 'He won't tolerate rebellion.'

'That's about the gist of it, yes, Almeida,' Morris told him, his face darkening. 'And just so you remember it,' he raised his stick and brought it down with full force on Tony's left thigh.


	37. Chapter Thirty Seven: Colin's Cigarette

Shuffling reached his ears as the steel door was unlocked and he was pushed through, followed by Colin. A row of cages met his eyes along the right of the corridor, the left a whitewashed wall. Three of them contained prisoners from other blocks who all stared as they were led past, two giving him hard looks. The cages at the end were empty and a guard ran his access card through the slot. It swung open with a familiar buzz and the first guard stepped inside, glancing round to make certain it was empty. 'Alright, get inside.' His remark appeared to be addressed to Colin, who moved forward wordless, his shoulders slumped. Once inside the door was slammed on him and he turned, pushing his hands through the slot.

'You gonna answer me next time I ask you something, Haughton?'

'Yes sir,' Colin muttered, while Tony clenched his fists.

'I hope so. I want to hear an apology first.'

Tony's mouth fell open, he closed it again rapidly. The guards failed to react, obviously being accustomed to hearing this_. Dammit! Why won't they quit humiliating him? What possible use is it?_ It appeared Colin was lucid again. He mumbled an apology, head hanging. Morris appeared satisfied, turning to the neighboring cage. He ran his card through and Tony moved inside, relieved to see the steel door slam behind him. Moving as slowly as he dared he pushed his hands through the slot, feeling the cuffs removed. He pulled them close to him, standing in the middle of the cell, aware Morris was bound to make a few extra threats.

'Alright, it appears you're where you belong - in a cage,' Morris began. 'Let me run through the rules in case you've forgotten them! You're forbidden to move closer than one foot to the bars. You're especially forbidden to push any part of your body through them. You're forbidden to speak. Is that clear?'

'Yes sir,' they echoed, Tony longing to see the back of him.

'Ok, I'll leave you to it. I will not hesitate to punish either of you should I hear of any infractions.' He turned and strode away while Tony tilted his head to the side, shaking it.

'Sonofabitch,' he muttered under his breath, rubbing his thigh. His fingers felt the large welt across his skin and he hissed in pain. 'You ok, Colin?' he questioned, turning to peer through the bars.

Colin nodded, placing a finger to his lips. He moved over to examine his mattress, his back to Tony, revealing an angry red stripe on his shoulders. Tony swallowed his next sentence, hearing approaching footsteps. The guard walked past, running his eyes over them. He turned his back and took the short step over to his own mattress, unsurprised at its filth. He had a week of sleeping on the cold tiles ahead of him as did Colin, by the looks of his mattress.

Tony settled on the floor, wishing he had a glass of water he could bathe his thigh with. _Seems like I meet the dregs of society here, sweetheart. Just last week they attempted to pin a narcotics charge on me, and they never even apologized. Seems they get away with murder…_He moved restlessly, wishing he could delete that final thought. Gonzales had told him tales that made his hair stand on end, though he wasn't certain they were authentic.

Colin settled on the floor, head in his hands, trembling slightly. 'Hey, Colin, are you ok?' Tony whispered again. 'Look at me.' Colin remained in his position and Tony got up and shoved his mattress aside, reaching through the bars to lay a hand on his shoulder. 'Colin, talk to me.'

Colin looked up, despair evident in his face. 'They'll catch us, Tony. There's no talking, remember?'

'Yeah, but there's no one here now,' Tony whispered back. 'Why won't you tell me what's wrong?'

'I'm ineligible to be returned to society,' Colin muttered bitterly. 'They don't need me back. They'd be worse off if I returned.'

'Who would?' Tony asked, struggling to hear his friend's quiet whispers.

Colin rubbed his face. 'Everybody out there! The whole country. Everyone's happier if I stay here!'

Tony swore aloud. 'They couldn't have convinced you of that, Colin! Who told you so?' He had a feeling he knew already, and Colin confirmed his suspicions. 'Bloody parole board. Perez said they haven't a clue what they're talking about. Listen, they sure don't represent the entire country.'

His colleague refused to acknowledge him. 'Dammit, Colin, pull yourself together,' Tony hissed. 'How many people were there on that bus?' Receiving no answer he took a deep breath. 'There were fifteen, weren't there? You think the parole board represents their opinions? You know, I'm sure those fifteen haven't forgotten about you. You saved their lives! There were a coupla kids, weren't there?'

He was rewarded by the sight of Colin rubbing his eyes. 'Yeah, there were. They'd be adults by now. So what?'

'So what?' Tony echoed, shocked. 'Come on, Colin, you gave them a chance to grow up. Those people who convicted you never saved anything. They haven't got a clue what's going on everyday. Neither does the parole board. They live in happy oblivion to the world's problems, worrying about what shoes to wear, or which tie to put on!' He fell silent, drawing away from the bars as a guard walked along the corridor, rubbing his face. Despite his best efforts he had been unable to shake the depression from his friend. 'Colin…'

'Look, Tony, you're being real decent, don't think I'm unaware of what you're doing,' Colin assured him. 'You got yourself another rules violation report coming here with me.'

Tony shrugged; relieved to see he was able to communicate. 'Plenty of space in the C file,' he said wryly.

Colin appeared to pull himself together. 'Tony, you got beaten! I'm real sorry.'

'Hey, it's ok,' Tony assured him. 'It was only one stroke, I can barely feel it.' _It stings like hell, Colin, but I'm doing my best to ignore it. Main thing is, you're back._

'How long are we here for?' Colin asked, gazing round the cell for the first time since their arrival.

'A week,' Tony replied, folding his arms and hunching over to keep warm. 'It'll pass. Then you just got a coupla months and you're free!'

'Free to go where? My wife abandoned me, Tony. Can't say I blame her. You want the truth? I don't care if they keep me in for three more years! I got nowhere to go.'

Tony bowed his head, remembering the self confident agent he had known at CTU. 'Go stay with your mom for a bit,' he advised. 'She'll be glad to see you. At least you got that option.' He fell silent, picturing his parents' house the way he had last seen it, cars parked on the driveway and a few weeds on the lawn. Eyes closed, he was able to picture himself walking up the path, bending his head to avoid getting scratched by the overhanging bougainvillea and knocking on the door. He had pictured it so many times he knew the next scene by heart, the door opened and his mother stood in front of him, reaching out to clasp him in her arms. He brushed a hand across his face, longing to see the place again.

'Tony?' He felt a hand on his shoulder and blinked rapidly, turning to face Colin. 'I'm real sorry. I should think of something to say to you, not the other way round. How the hell can you bear this?'

Tony leaned against the bars and pondered the question. _I'm not really coping too well. Inside I feel like howling and banging my head against the wall, I just don't show anyone. I can barely resist begging my visitors to take me home with them, but somehow I manage not to, and I smile and say goodbye…Dammit Colin, I'm supposed to be helping you!_

'Just forget everything except the present,' he mumbled, falling silent as a guard wandered past.

The man stopped in front of his cell. 'I'm keeping my eye on you two! I catch either of you talking, you'll regret it!' They remained silent, Colin staring at the ground, while Tony met his eyes, defiant. He held his gaze for a full minute, Tony refusing to lower his eyes before he moved away.

'What the hell are you doing, Tony?' questioned Colin. 'You're a little too old to be playing chicken! You see, that's what I meant out in the yard, you don't bend.' He looked agitated and Tony congratulated himself for pulling his friend back towards the land of the living.

'Sure I do,' he protested. 'Do you know how many insults I sat through? I lost track!'

'So sit through all of them,' Colin advised. 'Shit its cold in here. Was it this cold when you were here before?'

Tony shook his head. 'No. They got a new supervisor here too; I'm guessing he's from Alaska!'

Colin's eyes lit up in amusement and he turned his face towards the back of his cell as the guard walked past.

An hour later the guard still had not managed to catch them talking, though he paused often enough to glare threateningly at Tony. Colin moved restlessly, twisting his fingers together and Tony studied him intently, guessing what his problem was.

'Dammit Tony, I really need a smoke,' Colin admitted. 'I just got to.'

'And I need a coffee!' Tony muttered with feeling. 'Forget it; we won't get a thing this week.' He leaned against the corner of the strip cell, cold and hungry.

'I can't forget it,' Colin insisted, growing agitated. 'I need to smoke! You can't just ignore that; you might as well order yourself to quit breathing! I got to smoke! I got a cigarette.'

Tony turned in astonishment, watching his colleague pull out a bent cigarette from his pants. Colin put a little in his mouth and chewed it. 'Hey, what are you doing?' Tony protested. 'You can't eat that, it'll make you sick.'

'I know that.' Colin sounded worse. 'But I haven't got a lighter! You conjure me up a lighter, Tony; I'll smoke it the normal way!'

Tony rubbed his thigh absentmindedly, wincing at the pain_. Careful, Almeida. He's about to lose it again, and he's just struggling with coping. He really needs something to pull himself together._ 'So gimme a moment to think,' he replied, frowning. 'That guard that keeps coming, he's a smoker, I can smell it from a mile away!'

Colin glanced at him outraged and Tony shrugged apologetically. 'I got an idea. Sit tight, ok?' His friend nodded and Tony rose, waiting for the guard. Tony met his eyes on the next patrol. 'Sir, I need to go to the bathroom,' he begged, surprised himself how genuine he sounded. 'It's real urgent,' he added, clutching his stomach and pulling a miserable expression onto his face. The guard glared at him and shook his head. 'Sir, we missed our afternoon toilet break.'

The guard frowned, aware every prisoner was permitted three bathroom breaks. 'Very well, convict. Stick your hands through the bars,' he instructed, and Tony turned, feeling his hands cuffed behind him. A second guard arrived and unlocked his door and he was escorted along the corridor and into a dingy bathroom. He took a deep breath, holding it, aware of the overwhelming stench. The guard helped him remove his trousers while the second guard remained outside, guarding the bathroom door. Tony turned, slipping his hand into the man's pocket, feeling something hard. Breathless, he withdrew his hand and moved over to the toilet. Back in his cell he slid it underneath his mattress, resolved to pass it to Colin at his first opportunity.

'How the hell did you manage that?' Colin exclaimed, unable to believe his eyes. 'Tony? How did you bribe him to lend you a lighter?'

Tony chewed his lips, refusing to meet his eyes. 'Just have your smoke, ok! Try and spread it round.'

Colin's fingers shook as he lit his cigarette, drawing the smoke deep into his lungs. A peaceful expression crept across his face and Tony shook his head, pulling the lighter back through the bars. _We got ten minutes before the guard comes again – hopefully he'll have finished by then, and somehow I got to return this. _

'Hey, you, pass me that lighter,' hissed a voice, and Tony turned in dismay, observing a thug covered in tattoos pointing at him. 'You wanna broken neck?' he snapped.

'Where's your cigarette?' Tony demanded, aware the situation had suddenly deteriorated. There was no way he would hand a lighter over to anyone of that appearance.

The man swore for a full minute while Tony remained silent, unflinching. 'Look, you haven't got a cigarette, so I'm not giving this to you.' He turned his back, relieved the prisoner was housed in a different block to his own. The thug slammed his fist into the bars, the clang echoing through the corridor. 'Watch it, Colin,' he muttered and his friend finished smoking the butt, burning his finger tips. The door slammed open and two footsteps approached.

'What the hell's the problem? This is a silent area.' They reluctantly granted the thug's request to use the bathroom without threatening him, to Tony's surprise.

He held the lighter in his palm, determined to seize the first opportunity to get rid of it. Minutes later the door opened and the guards returned, locking the thug up. 'Alright, you scum, that toilet is now unacceptable.' He glanced along the row before turning to Tony. 'Convict Almeida, you haven't had a turn cleaning yet. Hands behind your back.'

Tony pushed the lighter into his pants and pushed his hands through the bars, glancing at Colin as he was led away. The stench hit him as he was pushed inside, the cuffs removed, and his feet shackled. A bucket and cloth were set before him. 'Move it, convict. Supervisor Morris will check this place in half an hour, he don't take too kindly to odors.'

'Where should I start?' Tony questioned, watching while the guard turned to point to the far corner before he returned the lighter. The work disgusted him. The block's solitary toilet required several flushes before he could even bring himself to pour disinfectant inside, his mind dreaming of home. Wet through, he watched the door open and the guards return with Morris, who poked his head inside and gave him a hard look.

'You think that's acceptable, convict?' the supervisor questioned, the entire corridor holding their breath. 'Maybe in some provincial third world town, but not here! Seems you require a little lesson. Move it.'

Tony shook his head, struggling to remain silent. He was pushed along the corridor and onto the main floor, led into the reception area and into a small room that opened from it. It was bare inside, devoid of any furnishing, grey cement surrounding him. _Pull yourself together, Almeida. This won't be good._

The supervisor stood in front of him, folding his arms. 'Care to tell me why you're here, convict?' he inquired. 'Look at me, dammit.'

Tony raised his eyes, not having dared to do so before lest the man take it as a challenge. 'Not because of the bathroom,' he ventured.

The supervisor shook his head. 'You're not stupid. I want to know who was smoking, convict, who stole Officer Coombes' lighter.' Tony studied the wall beyond him, hoping to hear the proposed punishment. Morris glared at him and removed a nightstick from his belt. 'I suggest you tell me right away, before I haul that shell shocked con up here to join you!'

'Leave him alone,' Tony muttered, his heart racing. 'We both know he lacks the ability to do anything right now.'

'So you're confessing?' Morris asked, a strange gleam in his eyes.

'Yeah,' Tony agreed his heart racing. _You're gonna be taught a lesson now, Almeida, about keeping your mouth shut back in D Block, picking pockets, diagnosing Colin, and even for beating your narcotics charge. You don't imagine they'll just let it go?_

'I thought you might,' Morris agreed, his eyes burning brighter. 'Place your hands against the wall.' Tony shuffled forward and obeyed, feeling his undershirt pulled over his head, blocking his vision. 'Begin,' the supervisor ordered, and he heard the swish of the nightstick flying through the air, gritting his teeth to avoid screaming. Ten strokes later, as he struggled to remain silent, the supervisor spoke again. 'That will do. Step away from the wall.'

Tony turned to face the guards, breathing heavily, hoping his tears would remain at the back of his eyes for the next few minutes. He hung his head, hoping he looked sufficiently contrite. 'You look bruised, convict,' Morris told him, amused. 'Like you need to bathe those shoulders.' He turned to the guards. 'Unfortunately we don't have a shower block! Take him outside and hose him down.'

Tony stared in dismay, remaining immobile until two guards grabbed his arms and forcibly pulled him outside. He found himself in a tiny space between the block and the wall, a perpetually shaded area. 'Stop,' ordered the supervisor and he stood immobile while a guard turned on the tap and drenched him with icy water. 'That will do,' Morris said a few minutes later. 'You ready to take the rules more seriously, Almeida?'

Tony nodded, shivering in the breeze. 'Yes sir.' He longed to be returned indoors and dried and locked back in his cage. Surely he had been punished sufficiently?

'Alright, let's go,' Morris ordered, and the guards grabbed his arms, hauling him back inside. Tony found himself marched across the main floor and into the corridor, watched in shocked silence by all the segregated prisoners. He was halted outside Colin's cell.

'Convict Haughton, thank your friend for taking your punishment. Maybe when you see the discomfort he's experiencing you'll learn to obey orders.' He gave Colin a hard look as Tony's cell was unlocked. 'Get inside, Almeida. If I have to speak to you again you'll get a lot more, that's a promise! And you thought you were ready to be released?' he sneered, turning back to Colin. 'You can't even stop causing people trouble inside!'

Colin let out a strangled cry as the group moved away down the corridor. Tony knew he should say something to prevent another episode of self recrimination, but he was in too much pain to attempt it. Instead, he pulled off his sodden underwear and sank onto the tiles, rubbing his body with the wet undershirt to wipe the drops off. Somehow he missed Colin's covert actions, spending a dismal night shivering on the floor, each breath aching. His colleague slept through the night without stirring, and he must have fallen asleep too at some stage, for he awoke with a start to an angry order. 'Convict, stand your gate!' He was about to struggle to his feet when he noticed there were no boots outside his cage.

Tony forced himself up, hissing with pain, in time to observe Colin's door unlocked and both guards move inside, one kicking him with his boot. His friend remained strangely silent. Senses heightened, Tony stumbled across his cage, calling his colleague's name. 'Colin, wake up. Dammit, wake up.' _He won't, Almeida, you already know that._

'He's dead,' a guard said softly, pulling out his radio to inform Morris.

Morris entered a minute later, pulling on his jacket as he rushed down the corridor. He laid a hand on Colin's neck, nodding. 'Yeah, he's dead. Call a doctor.'

'You killed him,' Tony began, unable to keep silent. He had failed, he had taken his eyes off his colleague for just a few short hours, preoccupied with his own misery, and Colin had committed suicide. 'You killed him,' he repeated louder. 'Why'd you have to tell him he was responsible yesterday? I took his punishment! You got to beat someone, wasn't that sufficient for you?'

'That's enough, Almeida,' Morris told him. 'Remove that convict; take him to the next corridor. I won't have him disrupt the doctor!'

Tony was returned to D Block a week later, filled with hatred against the people who were supposed to protect Colin and had failed him, including himself. They had been right to interrogate him, demanding he tell them where his colleague had hidden that fatal shard of glass, but he had been truthful when he denied all knowledge. _I would've removed it from him myself, had I known what he possessed. I'm real sorry, Colin._


	38. Chapter Thirty Eight: Averted Bloodbath

Tony rolled onto his side, freeing his arm from underneath his head. He rested his weight onto it, feeling the unpleasant sensation of pins and needles from his finger tips to his shoulders. Idly he wandered how long he had laid immobile, eyes fixed on the cracks in the ceiling. He had climbed onto his bunk shortly after lunch, refusing to answer any of Sanchez's questions, longing to be left alone. Slowly his eyes focused on his cellmate, who continued reading a car magazine without turning his head at the movement. _He's mad at me! So would you be, Almeida, if you tried pulling someone out of such obvious depression and they blatantly ignored you._ Tony allowed a sigh to escape, struggling to remember what had happened during the morning's yard time. Both Perez and Gonzales had walked over to him, pressing him for information about the previous week, but he had walked away from them silently. _That's a first, for both of them. I doubt whether even the warden would dare try that! _He resolved to apologize the following day. A second sigh escaped him at the thought.

Sanchez was unable to prevent himself from glancing upwards. 'You ready to talk now, amigo?' he questioned, his tone chilly.

Tony lowered himself to the ground and sat on the edge of the table, pushing aside a few dozen more magazines. 'Yeah,' he muttered, uncertain of the truth of his statement.

Sanchez closed the magazine and pushed it aside, over a few scattered cards. 'I guess I shouldn't be surprised to be ignored! After all, you ignored the Mexicans, and let me tell you, amigo, they weren't real pleased. Still, I thought maybe you'd talk to me. We all helped you out, when you first came to prison…'

'I'm sorry, ok,' Tony interrupted. 'It's nothing to do with you, Sanchez.'

'You should stop beating yourself up about Colin,' Sanchez told him, pulling another magazine from his shelf without returning any that littered the floor. 'There was nothing you could have done about it. He wanted to end it.'

'Dammit, Sanchez, I'm a Federal Agent,' Tony snapped, exhausted from the previous six days of self recrimination. 'I knew the guy! I mean, how much more information could I have about a situation, and I still failed him!' He rubbed his face, failing to calm himself. 'It's all true, what they said at my trial. I'm unfit to….'

Sanchez threw the magazine on his bunk and got up, facing him. 'Amigo, it's not your fault. He wanted to die, he had nothing to go back to outside. Maybe it's better for him.'

Tony's fists clenched and his eyes flashed with such fury Sanchez took two involuntary steps backwards, brought up short against the bunk. 'You gonna hit me, amigo?' he asked, worried.

Tony turned away, pouring cold water onto his face. _Relax, Almeida. He's right, you know it too, you're just not ready to accept such a senseless tragedy_. 'Of course not,' he muttered.

He noticed his cellmate settle on the bunk, and moved over to his customary corner, arms folded across his chest. There was nothing to discuss that would make the slightest difference. Colin was dead, and he had failed his friend at the lowest moment in his life. Deeply depressed, he scratched his head, running through Colin's death yet again.

'Amigo, here, use this,' Sanchez interrupted, passing him a bottle of conditioner. 'Put it through your hair, leave it on a coupla hours, and they'll die.'

Tony raised his eyes and stared at him startled. 'What will?' he questioned, though he already had a horrible feeling he knew exactly what his cellmate referred to.

'You know what I'm talking about,' Sanchez answered. 'It's ok, we've all got it. Sooner or later the doctor will see one of his patients scratching his head and write up his report and the whole block will get deloused and shaved.'

Tony poured the conditioner onto his head, rubbing it all over his scalp. 'Even if they're ok?' he inquired.

Sanchez laughed aloud. 'Amigo, wake up! Do you seriously imagine they're gonna check all of us. Like I said, they'll do the whole block. Hopefully it'll grow back by the time I leave!'

Tony returned the bottle, wordless. He leaned further into the corner, crossing his arms in front of him, his cheeks burning.

'It's ok, amigo, this happens every year,' Sanchez informed him. 'Just forget about it, it doesn't hurt! You wanna play?' he asked, a hopeful note in his voice and Tony nodded, watching the cards divided into two packs_. I don't really wanna play cards again, Sanchez, I'm so sick of it by now. I wanna go home. Focus, Almeida_, he ordered himself harshly. _You're not gonna go there again, it doesn't help! You're stuck here; you're unable to concentrate on your studies, so why not play cards? You got ANY other plans?_ Slowly he pushed aside a few magazines and sat on the floor, accepting his pile.

'It's all fair this time, amigo, I swear,' Sanchez assured him.

_You know I really don't care!_ 'Good,' he answered, forcing himself to sound enthusiastic. To his surprise he won the game, and the following one, his suspicions aroused. Sanchez rarely lost, and never twice in a row. _He's trying to cheer you up, Almeida. At least pretend you're ok._ 'Why don't we do something different?' Tony muttered. 'Hand me all the cards you got, the other packs too.'

Sanchez glanced at him worried, getting up to fetch his other packs from his shelf. 'Why, amigo?' he questioned. 'Like I said, there was no cheating. You're just catching on.'

'Right,' Tony agreed. He poured the cards onto the floor, watching them landing on top of each other. 'Let's build a house of cards instead. You ever tried that?'

His cellmate shook his head. 'No, bloody thing keeps falling apart!'

'So lemme show you how to construct the perfect design,' Tony muttered, enjoying the game despite himself. 'You wanna add a card?'

'No way, it'll collapse,' Sanchez said, shaking his head, a card in his fingers.

'No it won't. Anyway, we'll build it again if it does. Add it right here,' Tony told him, pointing to a spot. He watched his cellmate add the card with trembling fingers. 'There, see, it's still standing. You're getting good at this.' He added his own card breathless. 'Your go again.'

Sanchez refused point blank, and considering his wobbly structure, Tony couldn't blame him. 'Ok, I'll add the last three.' They both watched him add the final storey to the building, turning away to let out thankful breaths. 'Don't so much as breathe on it,' Tony instructed unnecessarily. Sanchez shook his head, turning it away to breathe, to Tony's amusement, and asked where he had learned to build so well. 'Ah, you sure you wanna know?' Tony asked, grinning. 'I had a coupla arguments with my parents, all of which I lost,' he continued, pulling a face. 'So I had a coupla hours to kill in my room.' He waved his hand at the house.

'You must have pissed them off quite a few times, amigo,' his cellmate told him, laughing.

A loud bang on the bars startled them, making them jump. Sanchez inadvertently knocked his hand into the house and the entire structure collapsed.

'Gee, what a shame, that must have taken a lot of effort,' remarked the guard, one of the few Tony genuinely hated. 'Oh well, you cons got plenty of time to rebuild it,' he taunted.

'You had something specific you wanted to tell us, sir,' Tony inquired sarcastically.

The guard studied him in silence for a moment. 'I sure do. This place looks like a twister been through it! Clean it up, right away. When I return, if I find anything on the floor, I'll be forced to confiscate it.' He turned away, walking further along the tier.

'Sonofabitch,' Tony muttered, helping to collect all the scattered magazines, pens, blank papers, envelopes, rulers and the paper plane he had made a few weeks earlier that so impressed Sanchez.

Sanchez piled the magazines on top of each other on his shelf, placing the writing material beside it. 'Watch it, amigo,' he cautioned. 'It's Rogers; you know he'd just love to write you up for something.'

'He always does, every shift,' Tony sighed.

'So keep quiet and he won't this time,' Sanchez advised. 'You've had a real tough two weeks; you can't afford to miss any meals.'

The guard returned fifteen minutes later, pausing to glance into a spotless cell. 'That's a whole lot better,' he told them, eyeing Tony. 'Who the hell knows, maybe you two will even manage to conform to Western standards of hygiene!'

_You will keep your mouth shut, Almeida! You will NOT say a word!_

'Of course we've only got you for a short while longer, Sanchez, so I guess there's no hope for you, but Almeida…You've got plenty of time to be taught!'

Tony remained silent, fists clenched tight behind his back. The guard turned and left them, continuing his patrol, and Tony allowed the breath he had been holding out in a loud hiss.

'Well done, amigo, I told you you could do it,' Sanchez told him. 'Now while you were away I got a present. Lemme show you.' He pushed open his drawer and carried a board game to the table.

Tony felt interested despite himself, not having played anything apart from cards since his arrest. He settled in his usual chair and watched his cellmate open the game and lay a few piles of various colored cards face down on the table. 'It's a 'who done it' game,' he told Tony. 'There's eight people in a hotel and one is found dead with a knife in her stomach. I wanna know whether you'll solve this case any faster than the rest of us, amigo.'

Tony actually grinned. 'Sure I will,' he answered confidently. 'How rich was the deceased?'

Sanchez glanced at the card. 'Not rich at all. She was an average income middle aged white housewife.'

'Ok, let's see the list of her fellow holiday makers. I'm looking for her husband,' Tony explained. 'Don't look so startled, he's the guy!'

'There's no husband listed,' Sanchez told him.

'There has to be,' Tony exclaimed, taking the list from his hands. 'Ah, you're right, there isn't. Well then, let's assume our housewife got a little restless and went for a walk and overheard something, and had to be silenced. It was one of these,' he concluded, laying four cards down.

'How do you know?' Sanchez asked, interested.

'They're the only guys left. Women don't stab each other in the stomach,' Tony observed. _They rarely shoot each other either, but you've seen it happen before…_He pushed memories of Teri Bauer aside and studied the four cards, elbows on the table, a finger rubbing his mouth. 'It's the art historian,' he observed quietly. 'Check the results,' he insisted, seeing his cellmate's skeptical expression.

Sanchez took the sheet and read it, snorting aloud. 'You're right, amigo! You're worth whatever they paid you! Shall we play another?'

Tony nodded, knowing it was essential to occupy himself to prevent thoughts of Colin poisoning his afternoon. 'Aha,' he said, choosing the characters for the following game. 'Ok, listen. We've got our eight suspects on a camping tour in Scotland, and the tour guide's body is discovered in,' he chewed his lips, amused, 'Loch Ness! Now I'm not ruling out the monster at this stage, but…'

The siren's wail, echoing through the block at that unexpected hour distracted them both and they wandered over to the door, staring out. Block supervisor Lee appeared in the middle of the floor, a loudspeaker in his hand.

'Now what?' Sanchez asked, nervously.

Tony shook his head. 'Don't look at me like that; I haven't seen the guy all week!'

'Attention convicts. It has been brought to my notice that we have a lice infestation in this block! You have exactly two minutes to strip to your underwear in preparation for treatment! I want all your bedding folded and placed onto these trolleys.'

Sanchez turned away, unzipping his jumpsuit. 'Amigo, move it. There's nothing else to see down there,' he told Tony, who remained at the door, wordless.

He turned reluctantly, pulling off his shoes and stripping to his boxer shorts. Face burning; he pulled the sheets from his bunk, folding them methodically. The door opened as he folded his top sheet and he stepped outside, following the queue downstairs to the floor. Several trolleys awaited them and they piled their bedding inside. They were marshaled along to the end of the main floor, and halted outside a small door. Tony saw several chairs placed in a row and the prison barbers motioned him into one of them. Sighing deeply he obeyed, aware of Supervisor Lee's eyes on him. Seconds later he was ordered to rise and he left, rubbing his shorn hair from his shoulders.

Perez stood towards the end of the queue, a fearsome scowl on his face, surrounded by his entire gang present on D Block. Tony walked over to him and Perez shook his head slowly. 'You were right, Perez. I only took my eyes off him a coupla hours.' He fell silent, overwhelmed by guilt.

Perez nodded. 'Of course I was right, Almeida. I've seen it before countless times. You should stop blaming yourself, there's nothing you could've done. That's what I was trying to tell you in the yard this morning.'

'I know.' Tony rubbed his face, staring at the ground. 'Thing is, I should've managed to prevent it. He smuggled in a piece of glass in his cigarette, and he kept it in the butt, and once I got punished for getting him a lighter, he just couldn't face it anymore…'

'You got him a lighter in the strip cell!' Perez stared at him with new respect. 'Almeida, he wanted to die, at least you gave him a chance to have a last smoke! Some people need to move on, you'll learn as the years go by.' A guard interrupted their conversation, ordering Tony to join the second queue in a no nonsense tone. He walked over to the other side of the floor, joining a queue that formed before a second small door, standing behind Sanchez.

The first ten convicts were ordered to strip and move inside. Tony heard a loud hiss indicating high pressure gas and presently the ten returned, coated with a white film, coughing violently and wiping tears from swollen eyes. 'Next,' ordered the supervisor. 'Get dressed,' he snapped at the unfortunate group of men. Tony felt a sharp push from behind and he forced himself to move, entering a narrow windowless room.

'Turn around, place your hands on the wall,' instructed a man in a white chemical suit, a mask over his face. A tank of gas stood beside him, which he raised. 'Keep your mouth and eyes shut,' he instructed, taking a step forwards. Tony turned to face the wall, fighting to remain calm_. Focus Almeida, the first lot made it out alive! Yeah, but in what condition!_

His keen sense of hearing told him exactly where the man was as he moved along the row, spraying all of them. Tony felt a sharp blast of warm gas on his shorn head and he squeezed his eyes shut, holding his breath. After what seemed an eternity the man moved over to Sanchez. Long before he finished with the queue his tortured lungs won their battle for air and he took an inadvertent deep breath. Moments later the world spun about him as he leaned against the wall, coughing, his throat and lungs on fire. The door opened and a guard in a bio suit pulled him out. Tony was dimly aware of the rest of his group on the ground from the harsh choking sounds all around him, but his eyes burned too much to risk opening them. Presently a guard pushed something smelling strongly of disinfectant into his face and wiped it, ordering him to open his eyes and pick up clean clothes.

Tony opened his eyes slowly; ignoring the burning which caused tears to flow down his face, noting everyone around him looked the same. He pushed himself to his feet and entered the reception hall where piles of fresh clothes were handed out.

'Get dressed, on the double,' Supervisor Lee ordered, his voice booming in the loudspeaker.

'Don't we get a shower first, sir?' Tony inquired hopefully.

'Don't be a fool, convict! Delousing costs a fortune, it's going to stay on for the next twelve hours! Get dressed immediately.'

Tony collected his pile of clothes and dressed slowly, his head spinning. Once he was dressed he left the room and entered the main hall, glancing at the fresh group of prisoners choking on the floor. He saw Perez bent over Palma, a look of concern on his face and he hurried over. 'Is he ok?'

'I don't think so,' Perez told him, genuinely worried. 'I can't hear him breathing.' For the first time since they had met, Tony saw a terrified look on his face.

He knelt down; placing his finger over the gangster's nose, then lowered his hand rapidly to his chest. 'Get the doctor,' he snapped, pulling Palma's head backwards and beginning CPR. A stretcher arrived and Tony was pulled away by two guards, the entire room watching as Palma was rushed through the steel doors.

Perez gave a strangled cry, striding purposefully over to the supervisor. 'Mr. Lee. You better listen very carefully. If my man dies, you'll follow him real soon!'

Lee's face paled. 'Convict Perez, how dare you threaten me? Take him over to the warden; tell him I'll be there momentarily. You just got yourself a year in the SHU!'

A growl went up from the entire group of Mexicans, both gangs moving to aid the leader. 'Call a lockdown,' Lee snapped, his face turning several shades paler. 'I want extra guards. Convicts, drop,' he ordered harshly. The prisoners remained where they were, except for the Mexicans, who moved ever closer to Lee. The guards formed a protective circle around him and began backing towards the steel doors.

'Kill him,' Perez ordered in Spanish, his tone uncompromising.

'Wait,' Tony snapped, taking Gonzales' arm. 'Palma's going to be ok; he's just had an allergic reaction. No one's gonna die!' He moved in front of Perez, halting his advance. 'He's gonna be ok,' he repeated, quieter, desperately hoping he was correct. Perez paused, regarding him dubiously. Taking a deep breath, he faced the supervisor. 'Mr. Lee, call those guards off,' he begged, watching the freshly summoned guards pour in armed, in riot gear. 'They weren't gonna attack you, it's just their way of dealing with the pressure,' he assured the man. 'Just send everyone back to their cells.' _Please listen, Mr. Lee, or you'll end up with a bloodbath._

Supervisor Lee glared at the Mexicans. 'On the floor,' he snapped. 'The guards will open fire in exactly ten seconds.'

Tony watched as the rest of the prisoners sank onto the ground, hands above their heads, while the Mexicans remained on their feet. He chewed his lip and turned to Perez, the only man whose order they would follow. 'Señor Perez, please, look around,' he begged. 'Do you really want to condemn all your men to their deaths? You're the only one who can stop this,' he begged. 'Just sit down, please.'

Perez stared at him for several seconds before he sank down, to Tony's intense relief. He watched as the entire gang settled beside him before he sank down on his stomach, placing his hands over his head.

'Alright, the third tier, get up. Form a line.' The guards who worked D Block hurried to count the prisoners, making certain all lined up silently. Tony laid an encouraging hand on Perez's shoulder.

'Gracias,' he said softly. 'You realize they won't just let this go, but I doubt whether they'll give you more than a token month in the SHU.' Perez nodded at him as he rose to join the queue, standing silently behind Sanchez.

Tony watched the remainder of the prisoners marshaled to their cells, face pressed against the bars. 'Alright, Convict Perez, get up,' ordered the supervisor in a hard tone. 'Seems like you're in luck, the warden himself has just arrived.' Tony noted the warden stride purposefully across the hall and strained his ears to catch every word that was spoken, praying they wouldn't punish Perez too harshly.

'Convict Perez, you caused quite a disturbance,' the warden told him, his voice clearly heard by everyone present on the block. 'I commend your loyalty towards your friends, but I cannot allow such an action to pass unpunished. You've got a month in the SHU. Take him away,' he stated, while Tony let out a sigh of relief.

He watched Perez led out of the block before returning to his bunk, weary beyond words. _So you helped prevent a massacre, Almeida! Hopefully in the next coupla days Warden Jeffries will reward you._ He pressed his eyes shut, wandering what he would ask for in that unlikely event. _Give me back my visiting privileges! Three months is way too long._


	39. Chapter Thirty Nine: Arabs' Revenge

Tony threw the ball in a perfect arc, watching it sail through the ring and land underneath. The usual players were nowhere to be seen, so he had collected the abandoned basketball and played by himself, oblivious to anyone watching him. He shut his mind to the wall towering directly ahead of him, picturing his garden instead. A few more throws and then he would go inside and start dinner for Michelle. Maybe it was her smiling face that distracted him, the next ball missing the basket. Tony scowled and went to retrieve it, bouncing it back and throwing it again.

'Amigo,' Sanchez began, arriving to join him. 'Gonzales wanted to talk to you.'

Tony sighed, struggling to contain his frustration. 'Look, do you think you could give me just half an hour alone?' he asked. 'Just half an hour to play in peace! You go talk to Gonzales, see what he wants this time.' He turned his back on his friend and threw the ball into the basket again.

Sanchez stood beside him for a moment longer in silence before turning and walking off. A mild prickling in his conscience nagged Tony, who tried his best to ignore it. Chewing his lip, he retrieved the ball and aimed yet again. _I prevented a bloodbath three days ago, and look where it got me? Nowhere! Not even as much as a thank you! Next time someone wants to strangle Supervisor Lee, I'll sit and watch!_ He wouldn't of course, but he repeated his 'decision' to himself to kill the sharp disappointment he felt. _You're a real fool, Almeida. You really hoped they'd let you see Michelle in the next coupla days! Wake up! _ It was a lot closer to an hour later when he set off in search of his friend, returning the ball to a box. Sanchez was not with either gang. Frowning, his eyes raked the yard, accounting for several prisoners he knew by sight.

'Where's Sanchez?' he inquired casually, leaning against the wall.

'Oh, so you decided to come and talk!' Gonzales told him, throwing him a dirty look. They stared at each other in silence, Tony with folded arms. 'Some guards came and took volunteers to clean out the kitchen,' he said finally. 'They only took those with less than a year left to serve.'

Tony's scowl deepened. 'Sanchez wouldn't volunteer for anything,' he said, having observed his cellmate's knack of vanishing whenever any work was mentioned.

Gonzales laughed. 'They grabbed four of them. He wasn't exactly given a choice. Why don't you go back and play more, agent? You were winning!'

Tony gave him a hard look and wandered round the yard, killing time. He was exhausted, and he was sick to death of the orange jumpsuits he saw everywhere he went. Idly he glanced at the towers, noting the ever vigilant guards. _Just walk right up to that gate and start climbing, and you'd get a bullet through your brain for sure._ His eyes examined the huge gate, knowing it led into another courtyard. _Focus, Almeida! You said you'd give Jack a little time to get you pardoned. You've got another five months or so, and you're going to stay here!_

By the time the siren wailed signaling the end of yard time Tony's unease increased to anxiety. What could be taking so long in the kitchen, with the usual staff and four prisoners to assist? He joined the queue reluctantly and headed back indoors, climbing up to the third floor. Moments later the familiar buzzing signaled the cells opening. The prisoners moved inside while he remained on the tier, unable to enter.

'What the hell is your problem, Almeida?' snapped a guard, grabbing his arm and giving him a rough shove. 'Get inside or you'll get a D report.'

'Could you tell me how much longer Sanchez will be kept in the kitchen?' Tony inquired as politely as he could.

The guard sneered at him from behind the locked door. 'Did anyone address you, convict?' He waited while Tony shook his head. 'Then I suggest you stay silent. He'll be returned whenever the kitchen is clean. You'll have to contain yourself, in the meantime.'

'What?' Tony exclaimed, outraged at the implication.

'You got anymore comments?' inquired the guard, eyeing him challengingly.

Tony counted to three mentally and shook his head. 'No sir.' The guard waited another few seconds, watching him, before he turned. A sudden thought crossed his mind. 'Who else did they choose to clean out?'

Once again the guard eyed him, pulling out his notebook. 'I'm writing you up for holding up a corrections officer,' he said.

Tony glanced to the side, struggling to contain his annoyance. 'Gee, you're being real helpful!' he muttered, unwisely.

'And you're being written up for giving lip,' continued the guard, unperturbed. 'I got plenty more empty pages left in this notebook, convict. You got anything further to say?'

'No sir,' he said again, lowering his gaze. A mental image crept into his mind unbidden; he was shaking the guard till his teeth rattled. He allowed the scene to play itself out while the guard remained on the opposite side of the door. Once he left, Tony slammed his fist into the nearest wall, furious with himself. 'You must be a real slow learner, Almeida! You've been here now what, seven months, and you haven't learned not to ask questions. You just can't help yourself, can you?'

Tony settled in his corner, gazing round the cell. They had been a little lax about tidying up recently. His books lay on his bed, and his notebook and pens on the shelf above it, while Sanchez's cards lay scattered round the floor. Sanchez's car magazines once again littered every spare corner of the floor and table, and their caps hung from the posts of the bunk. He pushed aside a few magazines and stretched his legs out, idly flipping through a few colorful advertisements. _Yeah, they're all great; I'd accept anyone of them! _

Another hour passed slowly while he sat in the corner before he rose, unable to watch the mess any longer. Sighing heavily he collected several years' worth of magazines and sorted them according to their publication date, replacing them on Sanchez's shelf. It wasn't quite lunchtime, so he gathered the piles of cards and played solitaire for a few minutes before packing them away. Tony pulled a chair from the table and sat down, surveying a neat cell. Nothing remained to be done that day. He propped his elbows on the table and rested his head in his hands, mentally counting the days till his next visit. Michelle would be back in LA by now, so she would almost certainly visit him. His heart leapt at the thought, while he fought his excitement down. Sooner or later she would get sick of seeing him led into a room in cuffs, unable to touch her.

Restlessly he rose and pushed the chair back, unconsciously creating additional space for pacing.

Once the siren wailed he stood outside his door, hands behind his back, hoping the supervisor hadn't decided he would be held back for his rudeness. As the doors opened he let out a breath he hadn't been aware he was holding and joined the silent queue, taking care to keep to the prisoners' side of the yellow line which ran the length of the catwalk. 'Alright, third tier, move,' ordered a guard, and he followed the men before him wordless along the entire row and down the stairs. That afternoon they were sent into the dining hall last. Tony grabbed a tray and glanced around, moving next to Fernandez.

'Have you seen Sanchez yet?' he inquired, sitting at an empty seat which no other prisoner dared to take.

Fernandez shook his head. 'No, we haven't. I take it he's not back yet. That's strange, lunch is already served.'

'Did you see who else they took to help?' Tony continued, eating rapidly.

'A couple of Arabs. Hey, agent, they're right over there, two tables down. Wander why Sanchez isn't back yet?'

Tony pushed his chair back. 'Those men are real dangerous, you know that? They already failed to pin a narcotics charge on me. I'm gonna ask them where he is.'

'The guards are watching you, Almeida,' Gonzales warned. 'Better sit down.'

'Yeah well, let them watch. I'm just going to talk to some people,' Tony remarked, walking purposefully towards the table of returned terrorists. Bobby's face loomed before him; he didn't even try to push it away. Behind him Fernandez let out a long sigh. _A-Seg, here I come. _He paused at the table, pushing two plates aside as he leaned forward.

Conversation ceased as they cast him hostile looks. 'Federal Agent Almeida,' one remarked, eyeing him. 'What do you want here? You think you're gonna question us?' Loud laughter greeted his words.

Tony shook his head. 'What for? You're already where you deserve to be! I just wanna know where Sanchez is.' He held their gaze, reading their hatred.

One leaned forward, speaking rapidly in Arabic. 'See if you understand us, agent. He's in the freezer, dying. That's your warning; we're coming after you next.'

'You're not serious?' Tony exclaimed, horrified.

'Told you the bastard understands us,' one said.

Tony stared at them another moment, sensing they spoke the truth, before he turned and pushed his way between the tables, over to the counter. 'What the hell do you think…' a guard began. Pushing him aside he swung himself over the serving hatch and rushed through the kitchen, searching for the freezer. Counters stood in every direction, filled with large pots similar in many ways to the army kitchen. The few convicts who worked there moved aside as they saw his fury, allowing him free passage. Two guards leapt up from a counter they had been sitting on, attempting to stop him. Tony pushed one aside, noting him slide along the floor and into a counter before he reached a door at the other end of the room. Pushing it open the cold took his breath away. He stepped inside, switching on a light beside the door. Sanchez lay at the back, a knife in his stomach.

'Oh God,' Tony breathed, moving over to him and pulling him up. 'Let's get you out of here. Don't try to speak.' Gently he laid his friend on an empty table, examining the wound. A guard moved over to them, speaking rapidly in his radio. 'Hang in there, Sanchez; you're going to be fine.'

Within moments a stretcher arrived, wheeled by two medics. Tony watched them place his cellmate on it and push him out, standing motionless by the table. 'Convict Almeida,' snapped a voice, harsh in the silence. 'You got some explaining to do. Bring him to my office.'

Tony stared at the new arrival, the warden, who surveyed the crime scene with expert eyes. Two guards moved to either side of him, one producing a stun baton. 'Alright, I'm coming,' he muttered, following them back through the kitchen. A door was opened and the group stepped into the dining hall. All the Mexicans stared at him, as he walked towards the door.

'That was fun, agent, twisting that knife in his gut,' one of the Arabs sneered, speaking softly in Arabic. 'That Spaniard, did he scream!'

Tony swung round, past the guards and rushed to the table, hearing them close behind. Hot rage burned through him.

'It was you?' he questioned.

'Yes, it was me. What are you gonna do about it? We killed him, we killed your brother, and we'll kill you, and you can be sure we'll kill more…' He gasped, as Tony reached for him, twisting his neck.

A loud whistle caused all the prisoners to throw themselves on the ground, hands on their heads, as Tony was surrounded. A pair of cuffs were produced and tightened round his wrists, and he was pushed from the room. 'Keep moving,' hissed a guard, leading him through D Block and out into a courtyard, forcing him through the prison at breakneck speed.

They led him inside an interrogation room, shackling his legs to a chair and leaving his hands cuffed behind him. Tony sat alone, ramrod straight, eyes fixed on the table before him. Fury at the terrorists and concern for his friend surged through him, emotions pulling him both ways. _I should have killed that bastard. I will when I see him again._

The door opened presently and the warden entered together with two guards. Tony rose with difficulty, eyes lowered.

'Convict Almeida, that was premeditated assault,' began the warden, fury in his voice. 'Do you realize what you've just done? You've unleashed an entire new war between our Muslims and Mexicans, a problem we didn't face before!'

'They wanted to come after me, so they attacked Sanchez,' Tony began, softly. 'Sanchez is a car thief! He has nothing to do with any terrorists; he didn't deserve to be hurt. He's gonna get out in eight months now.'

'Silence, convict,' snapped the warden, and he closed his mouth, not wishing to provoke the man to greater fury and risk a taste of the stun baton. 'I'm sentencing you to a year in the SHU! Maybe that will teach you to mind your own business and quit looking for trouble. Have you any idea what that entails?'

'Yes sir,' Tony said, his heart sinking. 'It's solitary, 23 and a half hours locked indoors, exercising outdoors in a cage, no books, no letters, no visitors.'

'That's about right,' stated the warden, his gaze boring through Tony. 'You're among my most troublesome convicts, Almeida,' he continued relentlessly. 'How you managed to hold a job of any kind, let alone one of responsibility, I have no idea. I suggest you take this year to evaluate your situation and quit dreaming. Either you settle down like all the rest of the scum you see around you, or sooner or later you'll face capital punishment. Take him away.'

'Move it, convict,' ordered a guard, unshackling his legs, and Tony followed them outside, the baton against his neck. All the courtyards were silent as he passed through them, dejected. The sun shone directly above him through a cloudless sky, burning the back of his neck. D Block was silent as he passed. A general lockdown was in progress, he presumed, his heart aching. How was Sanchez?

High walls with a double roll of barbed wire loomed before him, casting the only shadow in the entire yard. They passed through a checkpoint, the guard in the booth calling administration to confirm he was to be taken inside. A solid steel door opened with a quiet buzz and he stepped through, entering the dreaded Special Housing Unit, a prison within a prison for incorrigible inmates. A bored clerk glanced at a laptop, allocating him a cell on the second row.

Tony was ordered to strip and place his clothes on a counter. Pulling his impassive mask on, he removed his things and laid them down, standing before them naked. The supervisor entered the room, watching while he was searched. _I'm not gonna resist, you bastard. I know you want me to, but I won't. You've got no reason to use your stun baton._

'You got a year with us, Convict Almeida,' began the supervisor, moving towards him after he was searched. 'I agree with the warden, a year by yourself might bring you to your senses. Then again, it might not.' He held the baton to Tony's neck, activating it.

Fire rushed through his body, burning every nerve. Tony felt his body twisting backwards as his mouth opened in a silent scream. Once the baton was removed he crumbled to the ground, unable to move for several minutes, fighting for air.

'That will do, convict. Quit wasting time. Get dressed.'

Breathing slowly he rolled over, pushing himself up. Objects swayed around him as he pulled his clothes on; aware he mixed up his shoes. A guard grabbed his arms, placing cuffs on them and he was led onto the main floor. This building was familiar to him from his narcotics trial, consisting of a silent floor surrounded by solid steel doors, blocking out all sight and sound. Tony stumbled up the stairs to the second floor, being halted before the first door.

Once the guard opened the solid steel door they faced a second door, which was also unlocked, with a different access card, carried by the second guard. 'Get inside, convict,' one ordered, and he entered, hearing the first door slam behind him. Moments later the outer door's slam vibrated through the cell. Just as he was wandering how long they intended to leave him in his cuffs the slot opened. 'Stick your arms through, convict.' Tony moved to the slot, raising his arms as high as he could, turning to make certain they went through the slot. His cuffs were removed and he moved from the door, hearing the slot slammed shut.

Tears stung his eyes as he stumbled over to a bed, sitting on it to pull his shoes from his feet, before he lay down on his stomach, cursing the bright light set into the ceiling. He needed darkness, needed complete blackness to envelop him. Closing his eyes he forced his breathing to steady, refusing to allow himself to consider his new punishment right away. _Looks like Warden Jeffries got what he wanted. You're back in the SHU, and nothing like a month has passed!_

After an hour of lying motionless he sat up, examining the cell where he would spend an entire year. Grey bricks made up the walls, pale grey tiles lined the floor, cold to his feet. A toilet with a washbasin on top of it lay opposite the door. His bed was made of concrete with a thin sponge mattress thrown over it, covered in grimy white sheets with a grey blanket. Feeling unpleasantly cold, he wrapped the blanket round his back and leaned against the wall, his heart aching in the utter silence.

_Guess I'm not gonna see you after all, sweetheart! I'm so sorry… Oh God, I haven't even got your picture._

Warily he leaned his head against the bricks, chewing his bottom lip. _I've only been in prison seven months. If Jack can't get my pardon, I'll spend a lot longer in this cell than elsewhere. I don't think I can do this, mom._

Two days later his slot banged opened and a strange voice yelled though it. 'Troubles?'

Tony sat up, moving to the open slot eagerly. 'Who are you?'

'The nurse. Any troubles?' snapped the voice.

'How's Sanchez doing?' Tony asked, determined to get an answer. 'He was brought to the infirmary with a knife wound to his stomach.'

'I'm not permitted to discuss the health of other inmates,' began the nurse.

'Just tell me if he made it, please,' Tony begged.

'He made it,' answered the nurse shortly, slamming his slot.

Tony moved back to his bed thankfully, returning to rest on his stomach, the only position that avoided the blinding light. Closing his eyes he returned to his daydream, gardening with Michelle. _You're losing focus, Almeida. You're dreaming all day, and not just at night. You won't survive this year if you go on like this!_ He chewed his lip harder. _I don't care, anymore_.


	40. Chapter Forty: Released

Tony sat in his customary corner, head leaning against the wall. His eyes rested on his bed, his toilet, washbasin, and the cold grey tiles before they climbed a wall and focused on the bright light set high into the ceiling. No sound reached his ears from outside, though he was certain it was morning. Breakfast would be pushed through his slot any minute, and he would finish it rapidly and return his tray, and make a mark on the wall behind his bed, a new mark for a new day. So far he had kept track of the passage of time religiously, never failing to make a scratch on the surface of the wall. Today he would count how many scratches there were, he decided, and work out how many months it amounted to. He had time today, as he had been out in the 'yard' the day before, walking in his tiny cage for his permitted thirty minutes.

His slot banging open distracted him from his plans. Placing his palms hard against the floor he pushed himself up, walking the two and a half steps to the front of the cell slowly. Without looking at his bowl he knew it was filled with porridge. Carefully he placed it on the floor, eating each spoonful with a sip of tea, hating the taste more with each consecutive day.

Tony waited while his tray was removed before picking up the small stone he had discovered in his shoe the day they locked him in here, and made another scratch. Replacing the stone under his bed he crouched on the floor, counting the scratches. 'One two three four, five,' he removed the stone and circled it, counting the next five. He added up all the days, shaking his head in disbelief. It had appeared he had been here for ages, and no wander. 'Three months,' he said aloud, giving his head a slight shake. 'Just over three months!'

Once again he returned to the corner, giving in to his urge to daydream. It was daytime, and not night, but the two appeared to have little meaning these days. Occasionally he worried about the increasing amount of time he spent 'away' from reality, but he would slip into another dream before he could finish his thought, ignoring the warning that lay at the end of it. _You'll lose it, Almeida_. The thought hadn't filled him with as much dread over the last few weeks. _If I lose it, I'll be home all the time, and they won't have ME any longer._

His body was all they had anyway, was his last thought before he saw his men assembled before him, weapons at the ready. Koskinen stepped forward, saluting smartly for the benefit of Captain Anderson, who watched from his office window. 'Everyone present and accounted for, sir,' he said. Tony nodded. 'Very good, sergeant. We're going on a raid this morning. Need I remind you that this mission is classified?' His eyes searched his men, reading complete loyalty to him. They would follow him to hell and trust that he would return them safely, as he always had so far.

An unexpected sound distracted him from his picturing the men climbing into the transport. Tony frowned, puzzled, his eyes turning to regard his door. Why would it be unlocked today, when he obviously wasn't due for any yard time? He had been taken to the bathroom for a shower six days ago, so he certainly wasn't due for clean clothes either, not for another week or so, and that was in the evening anyway. 'Huh,' he muttered, turning his head finally to watch the door open.

A guard entered, followed by a second and third. Tony's heartbeat increased, wandering apprehensively what he had done to merit punishment this time. Why hadn't they ordered him to push his hands through the slot so they could cuff him, as they always did with SHU prisoners? Trembling slightly he stood up and faced the wall, noting another two guards entering the cell. One placed cuffs on his hands, another put a stun baton to his neck, and gave him a push, nobody speaking a word to him. Forcing his impassive mask on he turned and followed them outside, along the floor and over to the steel door. One guard opened it with his access card and Tony found himself outside the SHU for the first time.

It was an overcast day, grey sky hanging close to the ground as he followed them across the courtyard and past the blocks that housed prisoners on general population. For a moment he had a hope that he was being returned, but the guards bypassed them and crossed more open space, heading purposefully towards the administration block.

_So I'm to see the warden. Wander why? He said I got a year in the SHU, and it's not even halfway through yet. I know for sure I haven't pissed anyone off, no one even spoke to me beyond ordering me to move for three months now, and even then they usually just banged on the cage when I had to go back inside_. He was unable to feel excited as he neared the block, having sensed his hope die in the silence of the SHU. _Maybe he got me the death penalty he promised._ He found himself welcoming the thought as they entered the administration block and walked along the corridor to the warden's office.

Instead of waiting a guard knocked on the door and opened it, stepping inside. Tony was given a push and he entered, followed by two more guards, one still holding the stun baton. 'Alright, you can leave,' the warden said, and two of the guards left, much to Tony's amazement. One remained, leaning against the wall, watching him for any movement.

'Convict Almeida, you are an extremely fortunate man,' began the warden, pursing his lips in obvious disapproval. 'It seems like your crimes are to be overlooked. You're to be given a second chance.' He pushed a document to the back of his desk, and Tony blinked, unable to believe what he had been told. His eyes searched the paper, a presidential pardon, an identical document to the one he had seen before at CTU, this one with his own name on it.

'That one's yours to keep,' the warden was telling him, while he struggled to comprehend the total meaning of the document. 'You're free to go, convict. You'll need to nominate someone to pick you up, and you'll need to complete a few forms.' He gazed at Tony, who stared back silently, unable to gather his thoughts. _I'm free to go! I can go! I can go now!_

'Who should I call?' pressed the warden, impatiently, disapproval written on his face.

Tony stared at the document, reading his name for the tenth time. 'My wife,' he said finally, forcing his gaze to meet the warden's.

'Alright, remove his cuffs,' said the warden, and called a number, while the guard freed his wrists. Instinctively he rubbed them together, longing to hear Michelle's voice. 'I see. OK, that's fine.' The warden turned back to him. 'Your wife is out on a case. Pick someone else.'

Tony rubbed his face, sick at heart. For a moment he had hoped to see Michelle in the next few hours, and yet again he was unable to.

'Almeida, who shall I call,' snapped the warden, phone in his hand.

'I'll go home by myself,' Tony said softly, his gaze returning to the document.

'That's impossible,' replied the warden, losing patience. 'This prison is too far from town to enable you to do so. Give me a contact, or you get to stay another day.'

Tony wasn't certain as to the legality of that final statement, but it galvanized him to action. He rubbed his face harder, thinking of his relatives. The truth was that he had not been permitted to receive mail for the previous three months, so he was uncertain as to the exact whereabouts of any of them. 'Call my parents' home,' he said finally. 'Someone will be there.'

He waited silently while the warden dialed again. Someone answered within a few rings, and he strained to hear the voice on the other end of the line. 'To whom am I speaking?' queried the warden. 'I see. I have a presidential pardon for Antonio Almeida. He's free to go whenever someone collects him. You'll do that? Alright, fine.'

'Could I speak…?' Tony began.

The warden shook his head and replaced the phone. 'You don't imagine the tax payers will foot an unnecessary long distance call?' he asked, shaking his head. 'You'll get to talk soon enough.' He turned to the guard. 'Escort Almeida to interrogation room 4 and hand him the release forms. Make certain he fills them all in.'

'Yes sir,' said the guard, opening the door.

'Don't forget your pardon,' reminded the warden, pointing to the form on his desk. Tony wiped moist fingers in his trousers and picked it up. _An official pardon. I can go home, but it doesn't go one step further. I'm not exonerated, only pardoned. That means I got a criminal record…_

He shrugged the lingering worry away and followed the guard back down the corridor and into another, entering a plain interrogation room. 'Sit down, and I'll bring you the forms,' stated the guard, and left, locking him in. Tony laid the pardon on the table and stared at it, swallowing_. You done it, Jack, you got me out of here. You actually got me out! I owe you one._

He rubbed a hand across wet eyes, pulling his mask back on as he heard the door unlocked. The guard returned, handing him a stack of forms and a black pen, ordering him to fill in every section. He gave Tony a hard stare and left, locking the door behind him.

_Ok, lock it, you bastard. I'm going home soon anyway_. He worked through the detailed forms in front of him, noting one of them was the same as the document his impatient clerk had filled in at LA Federal, on his arrest_. Mustn't forget to fill in Section C – place of birth if different from state of arrest._

The guard looked in two hours later and escorted him to a bathroom, handing the forms to a clerk. Tony was ordered to remove his uniform and have a shower. He washed, scrubbing his skin and hair, attempting to remove as much of the prison grime as he could. To his surprise he received his clothes back. He shuddered as pulled them on, remembering the last time he had worn them, the way he had removed them at LA Federal. Once he was dressed he was handed a razor and some shaving cream. 'Tidy yourself up, Almeida. Your family might not want you back if they see you like this!'

_My family will always want me, you bastard, no matter what I look like or what I do._

He was led back to the interrogation room and ordered to wait, hearing the door lock. He paced the room, his excitement rising. In a couple of hours someone would be here, to collect him. He pictured his family, wandering who would come, his father, his mother, or one of his brothers or sisters. Which one of them had been home and answered the call. After a while he moved to the corner and sat down, resting his head, aware of the seven hour drive facing whoever came for him, knowing he had to curb his impatience. Lunch was brought to him on a tray, consisting of basic prison fare. Tony settled at the table and thanked the unfamiliar guard, watching his face carefully. 'May I go and say goodbye to a couple of people?' he asked. The guard shook his head.

Tony frowned, requesting a few sheets of blank paper. He wrote a short note to Perez and Gonzales, bidding them farewell, and a longer letter to Sanchez, wishing him success in his future. When the door was next unlocked he handed them out. 'Almeida, follow me.' Heart beating rapidly, he left the room and walked down a corridor, past the main administration desk and into a lounge set with orange plastic chairs. A box was handed to him at the counter, and he took out his watch and wallet. His books were in a plastic bag, together with his last few letters that had been received after Summers. Even as he glanced through them, counting them automatically, he was aware of someone's presence in the corner of the room, standing beside the door. Slowly he turned, his eyes resting on his youngest brother.

'Tony!' he cried, grinning broadly, rushing across the room. Tony laid down his bag and hugged him tightly. A shudder ran through him as he held someone close for the first time in a year. Someone's heart beat against his own; someone's arms gripped him, overjoyed to see him.

'Joey! How are you?'

'Come on, I'll tell you everything on the way home,' Joey told him, picking up his bag. 'You got everything?'

'Aha,' he replied, watching as a guard opened the door and led them through the outer courtyard to the gate, allowing them through. The door slammed behind them, echoing in the silence. Tony stared at it, rooted to the spot, watching the lit walls and towers. _How are you, Sanchez? They told me you made it, but they never said in what condition. Who did they put you in with? Hang in there, you only got another three months…_

'Come on,' Joey said gently, grabbing his elbow. 'You sure don't want to stay any longer, do you? Let's go home!'

He nodded silently as he followed his brother across the courtyard to his car. Jo unlocked the door and he climbed in, staring backwards at the prison, lost in thought. He noticed his brother cast him a worried glance before switching on the car. They began to move, slowly through the car park and out onto a long narrow road that led into the shabby settlement whose main employment was generated by the federal prison. Tony forced himself to watch the dark road, lit only by the car's headlights as they gathered speed. They drove in silence for several miles, Tony aware he should speak, say something to his brother who had driven all day to fetch him and would now drive almost the entire night, but unable to formulate a sentence.

'Are you hungry?' Joey asked eventually, watching the road for large holes. 'I got some decent sandwiches, the kind you like. They're on the back seat.'

'Thanks,' Tony replied, turning to grab two of them. He unwrapped the first one and handed it to his brother, before biting into his own.

'I got some coffee too, in that flask,' Joey told him, pointing to something beside his seat. 'I made it just after the warden called, and then I wrote a note to mom and Papa and I came. I guess you wanna go see Michelle as soon as you can, but would you come in for just ten minutes. They owe you a few thousand hugs.'

Tony nodded, leaning back in the seat. 'Aha. Tell me what everyone's been doing. I didn't get any mail for the last three months.'

Joey spoke quietly, an eye on the road, describing the previous three months in detail, beginning with their parents and continuing with their eldest sister, and down the line, while he listened, storing it all. It appeared a lot of them were away for the moment. Jane and Sandy had gone to Chicago to stay with their grandmother who was unwell "bored" at present, Anna and John had flown to England to open a tennis school there and planned to stay a year, Marco of course was away in the Gulf…Tony swallowed, having pictured them all at home every night as he lay silently on his bed, all of them, including Bobby.

'Bob,' he began.

Jo nodded. 'The baby's come,' he said. 'He looks exactly like Bobby; Sam called him Roberto, would you believe it? They're staying home with mom and Papa for the moment. They didn't want to give her Bobby's pension, but we asked Michelle for help, and she sorted it out.'

Tony nodded again. 'Yeah, she's good at that type of thing.' He fell silent again, picturing the knife at her throat. "I'll rip your throat out…" A wave of regret washed over him_. I should NEVER have allowed Chappelle to order her to the hotel._ 'I don't deserve this pardon,' he said softly. 'I knowingly let everyone down. There's dozens of guys inside who had an awful start and made one bad decision, and they get to stay coz they don't know anyone who'll speak up for them.'

Joey glanced at him startled, failing to notice a pothole in the road. 'Sorry,' he said, turning his attention back to his driving. 'Tony, you can't mean that. You're a good guy.'

Tony shook his head and gazed out of the side window, deep in thought. He didn't realize he had fallen asleep until a hand shook him firmly. 'Tony, wake up. We're home.' He stirred, seeing his parents' house with a light on in front. The door opened and his mother rushed out, pulling him from the car.

'Tony, sweetheart, you're home! Come here.' She hugged him tightly, pressing him against her. 'I can't believe I get to hold you again.' She hugged him tighter. Tony hugged her back, blinking back hot tears. He hadn't realized the extent to which he had craved their love.

'Antonio, you're safe!' He turned, wrapping his arms round his father.

'Yeah, I'm fine. They let me out. Guess they figured I wouldn't betray anyone again.'

His father stared at him, searching his eyes, obviously worried by what he saw there. 'Tony, they pardoned you. Put it behind you now; try not to remember what happened inside.' He looked back at Tony, drawing him aside from the group. 'I know you went through hell in there, Tony. I'm not such a fool as to believe you can forget it all in a few days, but try not to dwell on it. You're safe now, you're home, and no one's going to hurt you again, ever. You've got a gorgeous wife waiting for you.' He smiled reassuringly at his son, giving him another hug.

Tony nodded, standing in the garden awkwardly, uncertain what was expected of him as no one had snapped an order.

'Why don't I drive you home to Michelle now,' said his father gently, exchanging a glance with his wife. 'We'll come see you tomorrow, after you have a good sleep.'

Tony nodded, giving his mother another hug before turning to follow his father to his car. Wordless, he placed his things on the back seat and climbed in. Mentally exhausted by the unusual stimulation, he was content to sit in silence and listen to his father on the short drive.

His house had a light on upstairs, with the downstairs rooms all lit. Tony leaned against the seat, staring at the building in silence, his fingers twisting the seatbelt. His father laid a hand on his shoulder a few minutes later. 'Antonio, let's go. She'll be waiting.'

Tony swallowed, having played the scene out dozens of times, his heart hammering in his chest. He opened his mouth to speak but no words came, and his father gently unbuckled him. Tony watched him step out and walk round the car, opening his door. Their eyes met and climbed out, collecting his bag, clutching it to him for security. 'Come on,' his father told him gently, leading the way up the path. He rang the bell and moments later footsteps sounded, rushing down the hall.

The door was flung wide open and his father smiled at her, pushing him forward. 'Look who I brought.'

'Tony!' she cried, throwing herself into his arms. Tony dropped his bag, reaching towards her with trembling hands. Her hair hung loose about her shoulders, filled with the familiar scent of her shampoo, and he removed an arm from the tight hug and gently pushed a few strands back behind her ear. Tears filled her eyes, and he wiped them away with his thumb, shaking his head at her.

'Its ok honey, you don't need to cry. I'm back,' he whispered, blinking his own tears away. His father squeezed his shoulder and left them alone. 'Sweetheart, it's gonna be okay,' Tony muttered, pulling her close for a kiss.

Michelle broke away after several minutes, taking him by the hand, leading him inside. Tony dropped his bag in the doorway and sank down onto the stairs, feeling her sit beside him, burying his head in her hair. Somehow he had survived the previous year, and he resolved never to let her out of his sight again.

THE END


End file.
